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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23781025">A Rider Upon a Ghost Horse</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelightofmorning/pseuds/thelightofmorning'>thelightofmorning</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Blood of the Gods, Voice of a Dragon [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ableism, Adultery, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Child Abandonment, Child Death, Child Neglect, Class Issues, Corpse Desecration, Crimes &amp; Criminals, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fantastic Racism, Genocide, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, Misogyny, Multi, Past Rape/Non-con, Religious Conflict, Sequel, Sex Work, Slavery, Vampires, War Crimes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:07:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,812</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23781025</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelightofmorning/pseuds/thelightofmorning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Calla was just passing through Hjaalmarch when Morvath Piquale tried to take over the village of Morthal and got himself incinerated for his troubles. Before she knows it, she's dragged into a war to stop the Lord of the Volkihar from turning the sun to blood. Harkon really should have made some better unlife choices, because there's no fury like that of a Conjurer who's joined forces with his estranged daughter...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Blood of the Gods, Voice of a Dragon [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1681009</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>132</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Laid to Rest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism, war crimes, imprisonment, misogyny, alcohol use, classism, criminal acts, implied sexual activity, slavery, ableism, religious conflict, corpse desecration, emotional trauma, child neglect, child abuse and mentions of genocide, adultery, sex work, torture, child abandonment and child death. Sequel to ‘A City of Copper and Stone’. ‘Laid to Rest’ goes a bit differently in this story because Calla has a brain, lol.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’re a brave woman to visit me so openly,” Falion said with a slight smile. “Aren’t you scared of the big bad mage?”</p><p>            Calla snorted softly, pulling up her sleeves. “I studied with the Whispers.”</p><p>            The Redguard mage chivvied her inside, closing the door behind them. “Ah, a fellow Conjurer. I hope you’re not planning to join the renegade coven that’s taken over Fort Snowhawk. That would make professional discourse… awkward.”</p><p>            “Necromancers or Daedric cultists?” Calla asked, eyebrows rising.</p><p>            “Necromancers,” he answered with a grimace.</p><p>            “Charming. They haven’t been dealt with because…?”</p><p>            “Because General Tullius called most of the troops back to Haafingar and the Hold guard’s too few,” he confessed. “If you’re looking to make some quick money…”</p><p>            Calla shrugged. “We’ll see. I have a bad habit of getting dragged into other people’s problems. I just want to go to Winterhold.”</p><p>            Falion sighed. “They’re touchy there and have strict rules about Conjuration. I left after some disagreements with Savos Aren.”</p><p>            “Well, I rely more on Atronachs or Dremora than necromancy,” Calla admitted. “I actually came to learn about Redguard practices. My father’s one – a Redguard, not a Conjurer.”</p><p>            “There’s not a lot I can teach you if you can call Dremora,” Falion observed, his voice tinged with respect. “But I’m always happy to trade lore with a fellow scholar. Do you prefer mead or tea?”</p><p>            They shared rather more than that over the course of the evening and in the morning, Calla went down the street to the Moorside Inn, where Falion’s sister ran the place. Everyone was talking about the burning down of Hroggar’s house, with his family still inside, and his moving in with Alva, the local village beauty, the very next day. That rang alarm bells for Calla, particularly since Alva was now known for being nocturnal, and she went back to Falion’s with breakfast and questions.</p><p>            “Alva’s a vampire?” Falion asked as he sliced smoked salmon. “You’re certain?”</p><p>            “Sounds like she thralled the poor bastard, killed his family and is now keeping him as a guard and food source,” Calla said grimly. “Why hasn’t the Jarl investigated it?”</p><p>            “Because she’s distracted by the civil war, her own visions and trying to keep her son Joric sane,” Falion answered. “But if <em>you</em> wanted to investigate, she’d probably give you her blessing.”</p><p>            Calla muttered something under her breath, ate her breakfast and then went to Highmoon Hall. Plain and drab like the rest of the village, only the Hold banners on its walls and the slightly finer furniture within gave any hint to its owner’s status.</p><p>            “So, life has brought you to Morthal, and to me. What purpose this serves, we will no doubt see. Welcome,” said the frail iron-haired woman who slouched in a fine chair.</p><p>            “Jarl Idgrod,” Calla said carefully. “My name is Calla and I’m concerned about this house fire. Something reeks about it.”</p><p>            “Yes,” Idgrod agreed. “Sift through the ashes that others fear and see what turns up. Aslfur shall assist you as needed.”</p><p>            Aslfur turned out to be Idgrod’s husband and Steward. “You want to investigate Alva’s house?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. “It was Hroggar’s that burned down.”</p><p>            “Hroggar is now involved with her and Alva seems to have become exclusively nocturnal,” Calla told him candidly. “It doesn’t paint a pretty picture and since it’s daylight and Hroggar’s working at the lumber mill, now’s a good time to check things out.”</p><p>            Aslfur glanced at Idgrod, who inclined his head, and sighed. “Here’s the key. If you’re wrong…”</p><p>            Calla, of course, was not wrong and Alva had barely stirred in her coffin before being turned into ashes by Restoration magic. She collected the woman’s ashes for alchemical ingredients and her journal for proof, handing it over to Idgrod not an hour after she’d left the small cottage.</p><p>            “That treacherous bitch!” snapped Idgrod. “I’ll have her head!”</p><p>            “I can give you her ashes,” Calla offered calmly. “I didn’t feel like leaving a vampire intact after I’d entered her lair.”</p><p>            Idgrod grunted, slumping back in her chair. “Can I trust you to lead some of my bravest people to the lair of this Morvath?”</p><p>            “Let me borrow Falion instead,” Calla suggested. “I’ve read <em>Immortal Blood</em> and if it’s Morvath Piquale, he’s at least two hundred or so years old. Unless you’ve got a Vigilant handy…”</p><p>            “They’re over the border in the Pale,” Idgrod answered quietly. “Very well. I won’t ask what you two will do.”</p><p>            After spending the afternoon preparing and the night sleeping, Calla and Falion arose just two hours before dawn and went to Hroggar’s ashen house, surprising the female vampire who had to be Laelette. “I didn’t mean to kill her!” she sobbed. “I didn’t want to kill Helgi! I wanted a daughter!”</p><p>            “Calm down,” Falion said softly. “I can cure you.”</p><p>            Calla gave him a startled glance. “How?” she asked.</p><p>            “Succinctly, I need a filled black soul gem to bribe Molag Bal with,” he answered as Laelette lifted her face from her hands, expression hopeful.</p><p>            “Ah.” Calla nodded in the direction of Morvath’s lair. “Plenty of black souls there. I like the idea of stuffing Morvath’s into the Soul Cairn. It’s poetic justice.”</p><p>            Falion grinned at her. “It’s a shame you’re passing through. I haven’t been so compatible with a woman in years.”</p><p>            Calla fixed Laelette with a stern gaze. “You’re going to help us deal with these bastards if you want your cure,” she said softly. “You murdered two people; you owe the Hold bloodgeld.”</p><p>            She nodded quickly. “I will. I can. Please.”</p><p>            Though vampires usually went torpid in the daytime, that was more a matter of practicality than it was necessity; Laelette was perfectly functional in the cave system where Morvath and his friends had set up shop. The thralls were bog-standard bandits, the fledglings were rather new to being vampires and Morvath wasn’t immune to fireballs from a trio of Flame Atronachs after Falion cast Soul Trap on him. After the difficulties of Markarth and the Reach, it was almost a pleasure to have an uncomplicated mission.</p><p>            By sunset, they’d presented Morvath’s head to Idgrod and by dawn, Laelette was cured of her vampirism. The Jarl studied the Nord woman for a long while before decreeing that she owed wergild to Hroggar for the deaths of his family but otherwise, she’d been as much a victim as them. Calla paid it from the coin she had to hand; Laelette and her husband Thonnir were already talking about moving to another Hold because Hjaalmarch had so many bitter memories now.</p><p>            “That was generous of you,” Idgrod noted as Aslfur took the heavy purse.</p><p>            “I’ve been a victim of outside powers,” Calla said quietly. “She’ll punish herself worse than anyone else could.”</p><p>            “Indeed.” The Jarl steepled her fingers. “Your assistance is appreciated, Aurelia Callaina. You’ve saved Morthal from a great danger.”</p><p>            “Calla,” she answered.</p><p>            “Of course.” Now Idgrod looked amused. “But do you really think you can outrun your name and family history?”</p><p>            “I can certainly try.”</p><p>            Idgrod simply smiled.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Just Like Ma</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for mentions of death, violence, fantastic racism and corpse desecration. I hadn’t planned on doing Dawnguard as the sequel, but the muse was like ‘Calla’s in Hjaalmarch and Serana’s right next door’, so here we are.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Open up! In the name of Stendarr, you unholy bastard, open up!”</p><p>            Falion rolled his eyes as he sat up. “Having the Vigilants as next door neighbours can be tedious, believe me.”</p><p>            Calla climbed out of the bed on the other side, tossing him a pair of breeches before reaching for her chemise. “Does this happen often?”</p><p>            “Once every season or so. Idgrod sends them packing. This one’s unusually persistent though.”</p><p>            All the while the Vigilant was pounding on the door and bellowing in a deep basso rumble, demanding that Falion come out to face him. They exchanged glances and Calla readied a Paralysis spell.</p><p>            Falion used Telekinesis to open the door and as a sable-haired young man in fine armour stumbled in, Calla hit him with the Paralysis spell, sending him sliding face-first along the wooden floor for about three feet, such was his momentum.</p><p>            “Egil Ulfricsson,” Falion said with disgust as he pushed the boy over with his bare foot. “Aren’t you supposed to be fomenting rebellion in the Old Holds or something instead of harassing honest sorcerers?”</p><p>            Face-up, Calla could see the resemblance to her mother in the dark hair, the athletic build and the blue-green eyes, though his were a more vivid aqua as opposed to her turquoise. From Ulfric had to come the rugged features and deep voice. “He’s certainly inherited the Stormsword’s charming manners.”</p><p>            “And what would you know of my mother?” spat Egil.</p><p>            “Seeing as she was mine too, a fair bit,” Calla drawled.</p><p>            The boy blanched and she had to wonder what stories of her exploits had reached Windhelm.</p><p>            “Why are you here?” Falion asked flatly. “I don’t worship the Daedric Princes; none of them have anything to offer me for my soul that I can’t acquire myself through knowledge.”</p><p>            “Don’t play coy with me!” Egil retorted. “I know you’re working with the Volkihar!”</p><p>            “Harkon and his idiots? Don’t be insulting.” Falion folded his arms. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t just take you to Solitude and make you General Tullius’ problem.”</p><p>            Calla stared into her half-brother’s eyes and realised that behind his bluster was a real fear and grief. “Falion-“</p><p>            “Carcette! She’s dead and so are the Vigilants! <em>And it was the Volkihar who did it!</em>”</p><p>…</p><p>Egil was shocked to see a flicker of sympathy in the blue-green eyes of Calla and a trace of shock in Falion’s expression. “If you swear, by Stendarr, not to try and attack either of us, I’ll take the Paralysis spell off you,” the former said in a low sweet voice that was at utter odds with her hardened Daedra-dealing character. “We just finished purging a coven of vampires that was planning to take over Morthal. Believe me, neither the College of Whispers nor the Priests of Tu’whacca have time for the bloodsuckers.”</p><p>            He reluctantly nodded. Until he reached Stendarr’s Beacon in the Rift, or found one of the itinerant Vigilants, he was one of the few that knew of the massacre at the Hall of the Vigilant.</p><p>            The spell eased and Falion thrust a vial at him. “Cure disease, just in case you caught Vampiris Sanguinis,” he said curtly.</p><p>            Judging by the taste of ashes and seafood, it’d been made from mudcrab chitin and vampire dust. Well, if they’d destroyed a coven of the damned things yesterday, they’d have plenty of those materials around to make potions from.</p><p>            Egil glanced sideways at the woman he supposed was his half-sister. Shorter and more rounded than the Stormsword, the harsh angularity of the Kreathling features had been softened by her Redguard ancestry, while her beak of a nose and the bronze to her complexion came from Colovian-Cyrod bloodlines. Since she was wearing nothing but a chemise, the Daedric script tattoos on her upper chest and forearms were visible, detailing her lineage and accomplishments as a Conjurer if he was translating right.</p><p>            “Volkihar,” she mused. “I think I read about them in <em>Immortal Blood</em>.”</p><p>            “They’re one of the oldest vampiric lineages in Tamriel,” Falion confirmed. “Hjaalmarch was actually ruled for a time by the Queen of the Vampires, Valerica the Death-Witch, who married Harkon the Cruel of Haafingar and became a Daughter of Coldharbour.”</p><p>            “Their names are certainly descriptive,” Calla said dryly. “But you called Harkon an idiot.”</p><p>            “One of his goons – Vingalmo – approached me to join their court,” Falion said with a shrug. “I declined the honour and he tried to kill me. I defeated him, of course, but he fled before I could finish him off.”</p><p>            Humility wasn’t a cherished virtue among Conjurers, most of whom prided themselves on their ability to coerce creatures of Oblivion. But if Falion had driven away an ancient Vampire Lord, perhaps some of that pride was more than puffed-up arrogance. “So you had nothing to do with the Vigilants’ massacre?”</p><p>            “We just said that,” Falion said testily.</p><p>            “Where is the Hall of the Vigilant?” Calla asked pragmatically. “This is the sort of thing that needs to be reported to the Legion.”</p><p>            Egil couldn’t help the harsh laughter that erupted from his throat. “Like Tullius will bestir himself for rumours of vampires when he has Skyrim’s true sons to crush!”</p><p>            “If the Silver-Bloods and Stormcloaks in the Reach were examples of Skyrim’s true sons, better they be crushed and crushed hard before they bring the Dominion upon us all before we’re ready,” Calla answered pitilessly. “I have more reason than you to hate the Empire… but I know that the Empire is more than Titus Mede and the Elder Council. <em>That</em> is what my loyalty is to, the greater Empire that my ancestors fought and died for.”</p><p>            Falion pursed his lips. “The Hall’s in the Pale… but if the Volkihar are planning to start something, they’ll try here. Between the bogs and the numerous tombs, Hjaalmarch is a necromancer’s paradise.”</p><p>            “That coven you mentioned at Fort Snowhawk,” Calla mused. “I was going to clear it out before heading to Winterhold. Idgrod’s offered a generous reward and after paying Laelette’s wergild, I could use the cash. Magic is an expensive art.”</p><p>            “I was thinking much the same,” Falion agreed. “Given that the Pale’s between Hjaalmarch and the College of Winterhold, you could investigate it on the way through.”</p><p>            “Don’t you care that Carcette and the others were murdered?” Egil asked in disbelief.</p><p>            “No,” was Calla’s blunt answer. “The Vigilants have been among those who have called hardest and loudest for my death, because I am both a Conjurer and related to a woman who became an aspect of a Daedric Prince. My greater concern is that a notoriously reclusive vampire clan has acted so <em>blatantly</em>. Whatever Harkon’s up to, it can’t be good.”</p><p>            She gestured to the door. “I’ve no desire to become a kinslayer. Go and warn… whoever. I don’t care. And then reconsider your allegiances, because the way you’re going, it’s the cross for you.”</p><p>            Egil spat at her feet. “You really are a heartless bitch.”</p><p>            Calla’s smile was frosty. “Just like Ma.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Awakening</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism, corpse desecration and mentions of torture. Calla’s pretty much minimum Adept-level in every school but for Conjuration and Alteration, where she’s a Master.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Calla was more rattled by meeting her brother than she let on but she refused to show it. After he’d been sent on his way, she donned her robes, ate some breakfast and then followed her Clairvoyance spell to Fort Snowhawk, where the necromancers had openly raised corpses and Conjured Atronachs to guard themselves. Nothing a summoned Dremora Lord and Banish Daedra couldn’t handle, but it didn’t bode well for the kind of resistance she would face. Thank the gods she’d bought every magicka potion Lami had and brewed more from every ingredient she had. She’d be potion-sick by the end of this.</p><p>            After that, it was a matter of stealth, selective use of Illusion to turn the strongest-looking necromancer against their colleagues, and then raising said necromancer’s corpse to fight for her afterwards. Falion had painted a grimmer picture than he realised of Clan Volkihar, so for the moment, Calla would have to eschew the Whispers’ rules for those of a Legion undercover mission: <em>do what must be done.</em> None of the necromancers had come from the College, which made her wonder where the renegades she knew were heading north were. Nowhere good, that was for certain.</p><p>            The coven leader put up a more respectable fight than a worshipper of Molag Bal should, but he was only able to summon a Frost Atronach in comparison to her ability to Conjure a Storm Atronach and raise the corpse of his second-in-command all at once. It still left her with burns and wounds that needed healing, so she drained every health potion in the place and then collapsed into a bed, using the last of her magicka to cast runes at the door.</p><p>            The next day, she took everything of value and went to investigate the Hall of the Vigilant. As expected, the Vigilants had put up a hard fight as three or four vampires and a couple death hounds were scattered among the dead, but no wonder Egil had been distraught at the carnage. Keeper Carcette had died hard and horribly. With a sigh, she summoned a Frost Atronach to pull down the ruins of the Hall and gather the dead Vigilants so she could burn them decently.</p><p>            “What are you doing?” yelped an unwelcome basso behind her.</p><p>            “Burning your dead,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll harvest the vampires for dust before I burn them too.”</p><p>            Egil came into view, accompanied by a Vigilant in their traditional grey surcoat over light chainmail. “What took you so long to investigate?” he demanded.</p><p>            “There were necromancers at Fort Snowhawk, you twit!” she snapped. “I’m a good mage, but even I need to rest after killing or banishing fifteen or so opponents!”</p><p>            “Whispers?” the Vigilant asked, placing a hand on Egil’s shoulder as the boy reddened.</p><p>            “Yes. I was on my way to the College when I got involved in this mess.” Behind her, the Frost Atronach did its work. “The Volkihar don’t sound particularly nice, even by Balite standards.”</p><p>            “Enemy of my enemy,” the man sighed. “I have no love for your order-“</p><p>            “-And I’m hardly weeping for yours, given the High Prelate tries to get me executed once a year for being an Aurelii,” Calla finished dryly. “But as you say, ‘enemy of my enemy’.”</p><p>            “Tolan, can we trust her?” Egil asked the Vigilant.</p><p>            “To fight the Volkihar? Yes,” Tolan answered. “Calla’s probably one of the best – and ethical, by Whispers’ standards – Conjurers in the Empire. It’s literally in her blood as a descendant of the Madgoddess. You set a thief to catch a thief in times like this, even I understand that.”</p><p>            “I’m not going to apologise for my actions in the Reach,” Calla said bluntly. “The Silver-Bloods tried to frame me, Igmund tried to get me killed, and neither side was willing to give the Reachfolk a voice in their own land. Of our kin, Egil, it was Granma Catriona who gave me the most support as a child – and she’s a Hagraven sworn to Hircine.”</p><p>            She shrugged. “But that’s in the past. These Volkihar are our most immediate problem.”</p><p>            “Indeed,” Tolan agreed. “We’d… unearthed something, in Valerica’s tomb at Dimhollow Crypt. It’s just a little outside Stone Hills in Hjaalmarch. I think that’s why we were attacked by Clan Volkihar.”</p><p>            “Given that Valerica was the Queen of the Vampires at some point, I must agree,” Calla observed. “So, what can a Whispers mage and one and a half Vigilants do to stop this?”</p><p>            “I only lack vows to be a Vigilant!” Egil snapped.</p><p>            “So why don’t you take them? It’d save you from the inevitability of Ulfric and Mother’s upcoming crucifixion,” Calla pointed out.</p><p>            “Enough!” Tolan yelled, his temper flaring. “Politics mean nothing if the Volkihar find what they’re looking for!”</p><p>            “You’re right.” Calla folded her arms. “So let’s bury the dead and return to Morthal. Falion knows more about the area than me.”</p><p>            “We need to contact an… ally… in the Rift,” Tolan said quietly. “Isran’s going to be bad enough with the ‘I told you so’s’. I don’t look forward to the rest.”</p><p>            “Isran? I’m pretty sure he and my uncle were fucking at one point and it got awkward,” Calla said ruefully.</p><p>            “Isran’s a paranoid son of a bitch and Irkand’s got the emotional depth of a puddle in the desert,” Tolan answered with equal rue. For a moment, they shared smiles, before he grew sombre again.</p><p>            “We will bury the dead and go see Isran. No doubt he’s already aware of this and is martialling his forces.” Tolan sighed again. “I know I can trust in the Madgoddess’ hatred of Molag Bal to keep you being tempted by vampirism, at least. May the gods who watch over the Aurelii go with you.”</p><p>            “Stendarr watch over you,” Calla said, turning away as Egil spluttered. “It’s a long walk to Morthal. I’ll leave you to it.”</p><p>…</p><p>Serana staggered out into the bright glare of afternoon sunlight on snow, crying out and shielding herself with a gloved hand. After Lokir had unearthed her, awoken her and tried to take her to her father’s stronghold… She was exhausted from the battle with Lokir and his minions. Now the sunlight was hurting her eyes.</p><p>            She managed to gain the safety of some pine trees, huddling under their boughs until the sun had set. Her body screamed for nourishment and the two rabbits she’d called to her didn’t provide much in the way of blood. She needed deer, or better yet, man or mer.</p><p>            There was a small mining settlement nearby and once they’d settled down to sleep, Serana crept closer towards the miners who slept alone. With a bit of Illusion and care, they’d just think she was an erotic dream-</p><p>            But just before she entered the village, a Flame Atronach flashed into being just before her, sullen ochre and gold against the dim greys and blacks of night. Its Conjurer, a black-haired woman in somewhat worn robes whose hands glowed sullen purple-black, stepped out from behind a tree. Serana cursed her lack of strength. There was no way she could transform and take to the air before a fireball got her.</p><p>            “You’ve done quite enough at the Hall of the Vigilant. There’s no need to go after the miners,” the Conjurer said flatly.</p><p>            Serana vaguely recalled Lokir saying something about Vigilants and how easy they were to kill. “Look,” she croaked. “I had nothing to do with it.”</p><p>            “You’re wearing a fancier version of the Volkihar armour,” the sorceress countered. “I’m not crying for the Vigilants because they were a pain in the arse, but I don’t think I like this sudden emergence of a formerly reclusive vampire clan that has brazenly massacred a religious order.”</p><p>            “Please,” Serana said wearily. “I had nothing to do with it. I was sealed away to stop them from doing what they did… but they’ve awoken me. Let me find a deer, please, and I’ll talk.”</p><p>            Her eyes grew distant, the glow around her hands went from purple-black to turquoise, and a goat came crashing through the pine grove towards them. “That’s as much as I’ll allow you.”</p><p>            Serana fell upon the hapless beast before it could even bleat and drained it of every drop of blood. Feeling a little more steady, she glanced up at the woman, and managed a smile. “Thank you.”</p><p>            “For a Volkihar, you’re not much of an opponent,” she observed.</p><p>            “I was imprisoned for probably at least a thousand years and then had to win free of my father’s goons,” Serana countered tartly. “Let me feed properly and you’ll see what challenge I can be.”</p><p>            “Falion said Harkon and Valerica had a daughter who became… well, a Daughter of Coldharbour,” the mage mused thoughtfully.</p><p>            “Serana,” the vampire said with a slight inclination of the head. “I’m not your enemy – unless you try to kill me.”</p><p>            “Calla,” was the answer. “The Dremora call me Heart-Taker.”</p><p>            “I can well believe it,” Serana said fervently.</p><p>            Calla nodded to a nearby tree-stump. “Take a seat and talk. Just remember I can Conjure faster than you can flee.”</p><p>            Serana obeyed with a grimace. She understood the precaution but…</p><p>            Calla Conjured up a fire, gutted and skinned the goat after washing it in Restoration energies, and pragmatically spitted it for roasting. “There’s some horkers about ten miles north,” she said. “I’ll call one later, unless you feel like feeding on mudcrabs? If we’re fighting vampires, I can use all the cure disease potions I can make.”</p><p>            “Practical of you.” Serana sat down on the tree stump. “I’ll make my explanation short and sweet. My father is obsessed with a prophecy that revolves around changing the sun somehow, allowing vampires to go out during the day. He thinks this will make him king of the world, but all it’s going to do is unite man and mer against us.”</p><p>            “So in short, your father’s a delusional fuckwit with just enough power to be dangerous and the absolute conviction he’s both right and undefeatable,” Calla said sardonically as the scent of roast goat filled the air. “Did any of you breed into the Kreathling or Aurelii lines, because that sounds like my mother and both grandfathers all over.”</p><p>            Serana laughed harshly. “Sounds like we have something in common.”</p><p>            Calla nodded in agreement. “Practicality would suggest killing you, but I have a feeling you’re not carrying around an Elder Scroll for kicks and giggles.”</p><p>            “No. And I can’t tell you much about it.” Serana smiled wryly. “Apparently you don’t learn much about something by sleeping with it.”</p><p>            Calla snorted. “Apparently not.”</p><p>            Her gaze grew distant. “You managed to miss two Vigilants – one of whom is a pain in the arse half-brother – who are going down to the Rift to consult with Isran, who’s both a noted vampire hunter and probably even more paranoid than Granpa Dengeir – and given he’s a paranoid son of a bitch, that’s pretty damned paranoid. I was returning to Morthal, where there’s a mage who’s somewhat familiar with your father’s clan. He had a run in with someone named Vingalmo and made him flee.”</p><p>            “Then he must be pretty formidable,” Serana said. “Look… I know you have no reason to trust me, but you’re pragmatic enough to not kill me on sight, and you don’t sound like you’re overly hung up about what vampire hunters and priests think. I can’t return to Castle Volkihar and I don’t know how the world’s changed. Can I come with you to Morthal?”</p><p>            “I was about to suggest it,” Calla answered. “You’re not giving any indication that you’re lying, and most Whispers mages are taught to resist Daedric and vampiric compulsion, so I’m inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt… for now.”</p><p>            “I’ll take it,” Serana murmured. “I don’t really have a choice.”</p><p>            “Do any of us?”</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. We're All Doomed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for mentions of death, violence, fantastic racism and corpse desecration. The Dawnguard questline will be out of sequence because 1) my OCs and various versions of NPCs have brains, agency and knowledge and 2) because I can.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Calla hadn’t <em>planned</em> on bringing a Volkihar vampire back to Falion but there was something about Serana that exuded honesty. Maybe it was her extensive training to resist magical compulsion. Maybe it was that beneath the pallor, Serana was quite attractive. Maybe it was the rapport of having insane parents. But something told her that Serana was telling the truth.</p><p>            For her part, Serana was cooperative, answering any and all questions Falion had about Harkon, Clan Volkihar, Daughters of Coldharbour and this damned ‘Tyranny of the Sun’ the ancient vampire was trying to bring about. Even the Redguard mage was perturbed by the scope of the Vampire Lord’s ambitions.</p><p>            “Of <em>course</em> this prophecy is tied to an Elder Scroll. A good many of them are,” Falion said testily after examining Serana’s golden scroll-case. “The one thing I haven’t been able to make a study of.”</p><p>            Calla, after a sip of honeyed purple mountain flower tea – it was late and they’d been talking for hours – cleared her throat. “The College of Winterhold would be our best bet for further research. I’ve heard they’re very laissez-faire when it comes to academics, so long as you stay within their few guidelines.”</p><p>            “Those ‘few guidelines’ can be quite limiting,” Falion said dryly. “No permanent raising of the dead, even if they’re your enemies or draugr, and every summoned Daedra must be banished.”</p><p>            “Probably a nod to Nord sensibilities,” Calla mused. “The College of Whispers has similar rules.”</p><p>            “But you probably have a point,” Falion continued with a sigh. “As pleasant as it has been to have you here, I understand why you can’t stay.”</p><p>            “It isn’t that I don’t want to, it’s more a matter of urgency. If Harkon’s moving now, so fast, after all these eons of waiting…”</p><p>            “My father’s people found me,” Serana finished softly. “For the moment, mobility is going to be my best defence.”</p><p>            “Agreed.” Falion pulled out a parchment and wrote out a note. “Give that to Phinis Gestor. He was my student once and now is Master Conjurer at the College of Winterhold. He’ll get you in.”</p><p>            “Thanks,” Calla said warmly. “You’ve been a great help, Falion.”</p><p>            “As have you.” He smiled at her and unaccountably, she blushed like a maiden.</p><p>            “I always wanted to study at the College of Winterhold,” Serana observed. “Will they hold being a vampire against me?”</p><p>            Falion smiled wryly. “Only if you dine on the students. I recommend the horkers. They’re disgusting creatures… but they’re not human and you can sell the meat.”</p><p>            “Wonderful,” Serana said dryly. “I’ve gone from being a princess to a butcher.”</p><p>            “Better a butcher than getting killed by a Vigilant.”</p><p>…</p><p>Isran was a Redguard who ran more to muscle than most of his kind, carrying a nasty-looking warhammer with an ease that would have made Ralof envious. A Rifter farmboy named Agmaer, another Redguard in odd lamellar armour of maroon and brown, and the Orc Durak preceded Egil and Tolan in their arrival at Fort Dawnguard. Word of the growing vampire menace had been filtering out of Haafingar and Hjaalmarch into the rest of Skyrim, and so Isran had begun to recruit for his ‘Dawnguard’. Egil found him to be abrasive but eminently practical.</p><p>            “I’m sorry about Carcette, truly,” Isran said after Tolan exploded in grief and rage, admitting that the zealot had been right and the Vigilance wrong. “I never wanted any of this to happen.”</p><p>            “Well, it has, and so we must deal with it,” observed the other Redguard. There was something familiar in his profile with its high forehead and aquiline nose, the olive-bronze complexion speaking of Cyrod blood.</p><p>            “As sympathetic as always, Irkand,” Tolan said bitterly. “Has Arkay given you any insight into this matter?”</p><p>            “I wouldn’t know. If you want someone on speaking terms with Him, I recommend Florentius.”</p><p>            “Like hell. The man’s insane,” growled Isran.</p><p>            Irkand arched his eyebrow at him. “Takes one to know one.”</p><p>            “Yes, the madness of the Aurelii is known to most,” was Isran’s smooth retort.</p><p>            “For most of us, it’s temporary and situational.” Irkand rubbed his shaven chin. “Why aren’t we reaching out to the Legion?”</p><p>            “Because they’re busy with the civil war… and we don’t need to antagonise the Stormcloaks,” Isran answered. “Or did you miss that Tolan’s companion is Egil Ulfricsson?”</p><p>            “I was contemplating the miracle that one of Sigdrifa’s children who wasn’t Calla was demonstrating a rare form of common sense,” Irkand drawled sardonically.</p><p>            “Whatever my mother is, at least she doesn’t deal with the Daedra!” Egil snapped.</p><p>            “I can tell you for a fact she’s quite cosy with the Dark Brotherhood,” Irkand told him mildly. “And the atrocities she has done in the name of Talos would better please Mehrunes Dagon or Molag Bal.”</p><p>            “No politics,” Isran said firmly. “These vampires transcend politics.”</p><p>            “True,” Irkand conceded. “So, you want me to check out this Dimhollow Crypt?”</p><p>            “Take Durak with you,” Isran said. “I’m not letting you wander around Skyrim without adult supervision.”</p><p>            “But if I take Durak with me, who’ll make sure <em>you’re</em> under adult supervision?” Irkand countered.</p><p>            Egil buried his face in his hands and Tolan patted his shoulder. They were doomed, all of them.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Waking Nightmare</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence and fantastic racism.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The port of Dawnstar was stricken with nightmares that, even before the Priest of Mara told her, Calla knew were the result of Vaermina’s influence. She and Serana exchanged a glance before the vampire nodded; they should intervene sooner rather than later. So they followed Erandur up to the Tower of the Dawn, once known as Nightcaller Temple, and discovered that even this place had a connection to her family history – once, Mashog Yar had stood nearby until the cultists drove Jarak gro-Mashog, the grandfather of the Hero of Kvatch, insane. That changed the matter for Calla – now it was a matter of laying her ancestors to rest.</p><p>            “I never knew that,” Erandur observed when she told him. “It makes it more imperative to stop the Skull of Corruption.”</p><p>            They entered the library and were confronted by reawakened Orcs and cultists fighting each other. Chain Lightning took care of the Vaermina worshippers but two of the Orcs in a berserker rage had to be killed by Erandur’s mace before the others regained their wits. Jarak, who wore a fine if antique set of orichalcum armour, pushed his way past two of his warriors. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.</p><p>            “Calla mac Catriona, great-great-great-granddaughter of your son Agol gro-Mashog,” she answered. “My friends are Serana Harkonsdottir and Brother Erandur of the Benevolence of Mara. We’re here to stop the Skull of Corruption.”</p><p>            Jarak growled. “You’re descended from that Shieldmaiden Agol ran off with.”</p><p>            “Well, yes, but if they hadn’t eloped I wouldn’t be here to help you,” Calla countered.</p><p>            The Orc chief closed his eyes. “This is a death raid, girl. We’ll purge every last one of these bastards and if we survive, we’ll seek other enemies.”</p><p>            “If you want a cause to fight for, the Fourth Orsinium is in the mountains between Skyrim and Hammerfell,” Calla told him. “Tarlak gro-Mashog is High Chief there; he’s your great-great-grandson through Tarlak’s second wife Ubra.”</p><p>            He nodded, eyes still closed. “We’ll see. But we need to kill these bastards first.”</p><p>            They cleared out the library and stillroom to find the way of disabling the barrier that barred them from the Skull of Corruption. Calla, as the only one who didn’t belong to a deity of some description, drank the Dreamstride and found herself in the shoes of someone she strongly suspected to have been Erandur. When the vision cleared, she disabled the trap and pocketed the soul gem that powered it, unleashing a horde of pissed-off Orcs on the Vaermina cultists below. She, Erandur and Serana followed them down, making sure of any enemy still breathing.</p><p>            In the inner sanctum of the Temple, Jarak confronted the two senior cultists. “Thorek, Veren,” Erandur said sadly. “The Skull isn’t worth dying for.”</p><p>            “Casimir,” spat the Nord. “You left us to die.”</p><p>            “I did,” Erandur agreed. “And Mara has forgiven me for my weakness. She can do the same for you.”</p><p>            Calla placed a hand on Jarak’s arm as the chief scowled. “They won’t take the offer,” she murmured in Orsimer, “But Erandur needs to make it.”</p><p>            “He was part of the damned cult,” the Orc muttered.</p><p>            “I know. But he’s here to make up for his mistakes. I think he’s punished himself far more than you ever could over the years.”</p><p>            “You sound like a wisewoman.” But Jarak sighed.</p><p>            “Go to Oblivion, <em>Priest of Mara</em>,” sneered the Dunmer.</p><p>            “I think it will be you two who go there first,” Calla noted as she called Paralyse and Summon Storm Atronach to her hand.</p><p>            “Hold!” the Nord said hastily. “I see by your tattoos you are a worshipper of the old gods too. Vaermina is generous to those who serve Her well.”</p><p>            “No doubt She is,” Calla agreed. “But Jarak is my grandfather, give or take about three greats, and I’ve pledged to end the nightmares. Nords don’t break oaths.”</p><p>            “A compromise. We take the Skull and go elsewhere. The tower and what’s in it is yours. No oaths are broken and no more lives are ended,” the Dunmer countered. “We’ll even leave Erandur alive.”</p><p>            “You can agree if you want,” Jarak muttered. “I’ll kill them when their guard’s down.”</p><p>            “No,” Calla said, casting both spells. “I keep my word, no matter what, and I won’t swear an oath that’s meant to be broken.”</p><p>            Veren and Thorek put up a respectable fight but once Thorek was down and raised by Serana, the conclusion was foregone. Jarak decapitated them to make sure as Erandur sighed. “I wish…” he trailed off, before going to perform the ritual to banish the Skull.</p><p>            <strong><em>“He plans to kill you and keep the Skull for himself,” </em></strong>whispered a shrill, demanding soprano. <strong><em>“Kill him and the Skull is yours. Vaermina demands it!”</em></strong></p><p>Vaermina could demand all she pleased, but Calla ignored her as Erandur glowed with an intense light that suddenly flared, sun-bright and white-gold, that somehow didn’t blind even Serana. When it was done, the Skull was gone, and Erandur was at peace.</p><p>            “Whatever power that Skull gives someone, it isn’t worth the price,” Jarak observed with a sigh.</p><p>            “If the hollowed expressions of the folk in Dawnstar are anything to go by, I’m inclined to agree,” Serana agreed softly.</p><p>            “It’s done. I wish I could have saved them but…” Erandur, weary but satisfied, rejoined them. “I was going to turn this into a Temple of Mara and spend my last few decades in atonement, but the Mother Mild has decreed otherwise. I’m to seek out ‘the dawn of hope’, whatever <em>that</em> is.”</p><p>            “It’s in the Rift. We’ve got ourselves a vampire trying to destroy the sun so he can rule the world,” Calla told him. “Given what I’ve heard of Isran, he’s a hardass who skipped the day Stendarr’s clerics were being educated in mercy, so they’ll probably need a Priest of Mara to stop other people from stabbing him. He’s an abrasive son of a bitch, I’ve heard.”</p><p>            “I’ve heard of him,” Erandur confirmed wryly. “Thank you for the assistance, all of you.”</p><p>            “Vampire trying to destroy the sun,” Jarak mused. “Sounds like a good enemy to me. I’ll go to the Rift too. What about you two?”</p><p>            “We’ve got the College of Winterhold first,” Calla explained. “If anyone has any knowledge of Harkon and this damned prophecy, it’ll be the Ysmir Collective.”</p><p>            “I think you’re right,” Erandur agreed. “Calla… Mara told me to tell you that there is no weakness in kindness and compassion. She was quite emphatic about it, and damned if I know why.”</p><p>            “I’ll keep that in mind,” Calla said softly.</p><p>            “I hope so. It’ll go quite badly if you don’t.”</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Redwater Spring</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism and corpse desecration.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“A vampire. With an Elder Scroll. And you let them swan off to Winterhold!”</p><p>            “My great-great-great-granddaughter knows what she’s doing, which is more than I can say for this disorganised shitshow you call the Dawnguard,” growled the beefy Orc in antique orichalcum armour. “Erandur’s here because Mara sent him and I’m here to find a good death. Are you going to pull your head from your ass or am I going to have to take charge of this mess?”</p><p>            Egil managed to swallow a laugh at the expression on Isran’s face. The man was effective but he – on occasion – made Egil look like a paragon of tact and diplomacy. The week he’d spent at Fort Dawnguard had revealed a more complex situation than he realised… and a grudging respect for Irkand, who despite his loyalty to the Empire was truly dedicated to the cause of purging the undead and necromancers from the world. He could only assume that the Redguard worked with the Arkayan militant order because he was an assassin, as the Vigilance tended to take problems head-on.</p><p>            “Calla sent us here,” Erandur soothed. “The woman refused a direct offer from Vaermina. Whatever her allegiances, she keeps her promises and won’t be swayed by pretty words.”</p><p>            “That’s the Orc in her,” Jarak said smugly.</p><p>            “The Whispers mages receive extensive training in resisting Daedric blandishments,” Irkand observed. “Isran, we will need her and this Serana whether we like it or not. ‘To catch a thief’…”</p><p>            “’Set a thief’,” Isran finished in a bitter growl, quoting Tolan from before. “But one wrong move from the bloodsucker and I’ll kill her. That’ll take care of this Daughter of Coldharbour business.”</p><p>            “Harkon will just find another. There would be a few suitable candidates who’d endure almost anything for power,” Irkand noted. “At least we don’t need to go to Dimhollow, I suppose.”</p><p>            “So now what?” Egil asked. “We wait for them to come here?”</p><p>            “No. If an Elder Scroll’s involved, the Moth Priests are our best source of information, and I know my old friend Dexion is coming north,” Irkand answered mildly. “Durak and I should probably handle that, since his ship is docking in Solitude and a rebel wouldn’t be welcome there.”</p><p>            “We will be one day,” Egil said flatly. He was heartily sick of Irkand’s belief that the defeat of the Stormcloaks was a foregone conclusion.</p><p>            “I do have something for you and Tolan to do,” Isran said, rolling his eyes. “There’s reports of increased vampiric activity in the Rift and it’s somehow tied in with the skooma operation operating out of Redwater Den, according to my source. Find out what they’re doing and burn it to the ground.”</p><p>            “Is your source reliable?” Tolan asked.</p><p>            “Brynjolf? The Guild despises the stuff as much as we do and the Day Master’s not above a little collaboration if the price is right.” Isran smiled thinly. “You’re welcome to question him… but don’t take Egil. Brynjolf’s a survivor of the Markarth Incident and enjoys humiliating Stormcloaks whenever possible.”</p><p>            “I like him already,” Irkand noted.</p><p>            “He doesn’t like you after you nearly killed the Guild’s fence in Morthal a few years ago,” Isran said dryly.</p><p>            “The woman was dealing in necromantic artefacts!” Irkand protested.</p><p>            “Irkand, on occasion, you’re too quick to stab people,” Tolan pointed out.</p><p>            “That’s cute coming from a Vigilant of Stendarr.” Irkand rose to his feet. “Durak, we might as well meet Dexion at the docks.”</p><p>            “Yes, because we can’t let you out of Fort Dawnguard without adult supervision,” Durak grinned. “But who’s going to keep an eye on Isran?”</p><p>            Jarak smirked. “That’s my job now.”</p><p>            “Stendarr’s blessed balls,” Isran muttered. “Fighting vampires couldn’t get any worse than you lot.”</p><p>            Egil was glad to escape the fort with Tolan. “We need to stop in Riften so I can alert Gonnar Oath-Giver,” he told the elder Vigilant. “If we’re going up against a vampire-run skooma operation, I want muscle.”</p><p>            “Agreed,” he said grimly. “I’m not as young as I used to be and you’re not a one-man army.”</p><p>            Riften was still an unlovely city that reeked of damp and rot. Gonnar was stationed in Mistveil Keep and since Laila Law-Giver would be asleep at this time of day, Egil just went directly to the Stormcloak commander’s office. “Egil!” the man burst out. “Where in the Nine’s name have you been?”</p><p>            “Fighting vampires,” he answered, belatedly remembering he hadn’t sent a message to his parents. “The Vigilants were massacred by Clan Volkihar and it sounds like there’s a nasty little prophecy they’re trying to fulfil – the vampires, not the Vigilants.”</p><p>            He shared everything he knew about the situation and Gonnar chewed his bottom lip. “I’ll alert Ulfric. Your mother’s a little preoccupied at the moment because there’s rumours some Daedra worshipper is claiming to be her firstborn-“</p><p>            “That’s true, sadly,” Egil interrupted with a grimace. “The best that can be said about Calla is that she despises vampires too. Maybe immortality isn’t enough for her.”</p><p>            “Charming,” Gonnar observed sarcastically. “Did you hear what she did to the Silver-Bloods and Kottir Red-Shoal?”</p><p>            “Aye. Now she’s told Vaermina to piss off too and is on her way to Winterhold. As much as I’d love to see her detained, the woman’s a one-Conjurer army and I won’t throw lives away like that.”</p><p>            Gonnar grimaced. “Wonderful. I wonder which Daedric Prince owns her soul.”</p><p>            “She’s descended from the Hero of Kvatch,” Tolan said gravely. “The Madgoddess herself.”</p><p>            “And Sigdrifa didn’t hang onto her? That was a fucking stupid idea of your mother’s,” Gonnar told Egil bluntly. “Here’s to hoping a king-draugr brains her in a tomb or a Dremora eats her heart.”</p><p>            Egil grimaced. He understood the sentiment but a Nord shouldn’t wish his own flesh and blood dead so… blatantly.</p><p>            With ten Stormcloaks, they found their way to Redwater Den and it was everything Isran had feared. The skooma addicts were dragged out to be sorted later and then everything was purged with fire and steel. One of the addicts, a Legionary, was babbling about dragons at Helgen. Madness and delusions. Everyone knew dragons were banished beyond time.</p><p>            Egil watched until the cursed spring was buried in ash and rubble before turning away. It was good, at least, to unleash a blow against Harkon in the Vigilants’ name.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Under Saarthal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism and corpse desecration.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Well, that was moderately horrible,” Serana observed as Calla placed the bones of the poor lighthouse keeper into the shallow bronze bowl and Conjured a lesser Flame Atronach to burn them. Judging by the sigils she’d carved into the bronze bowl around the remains, it would remain there until slain or dispelled; one way to solve the problem of ships potentially running aground. “What were those things?”</p><p>            “The black bugs were chaurus and the monsters were Falmer,” was her terse response.</p><p>            “Those things were <em>snow elves</em>?” Serana yelped in shock. “What happened to them?”</p><p>            “When Ysgramor’s genocide drove them to seek refuge from the Dwemer, they… changed.” Calla’s tone was now very flat. “They went from having black souls to having lesser souls, a friend back in the Reach told me. Whatever they were once, now they hate all surface life and wish to see it destroyed.”</p><p>            “I’m guessing you didn’t have a great experience with them,” Serana ventured carefully.</p><p>            “I lost several friends to them.” Calla nodded to the stairs. “Let’s see what can be salvaged from this place.”</p><p>            The next morning, they begun the trek to Winterhold once more and as they crested the hill, Serana gasped in shock and horror. The College of Winterhold was grand as they said… but even from here, she could see the damaged bridge that spanned a chasm and the ruins of a once-great city. What had happened?</p><p>            “I heard they’re excavating Saarthal,” Calla observed, nodding at the nearby site. “Were you alive then?”</p><p>            “No. From everything I’ve read, I was definitely born in the First Age,” Serana told her. “I think the Night of Tears was during the Merethic Era.”</p><p>            She nodded. “Well, you still know more about ancient Nord magic than most of the College. I’ve heard Tolfdir’s dedicated to recreating the Clever Craft; his skill as an Alterationist is known even in Cyrodiil.”</p><p>            They approached the dig site and saw that a quartet of mages were gathered before the doors. “Hello down there!” Calla called out. “Are you from the College?”</p><p>            “Where else would we be from?” retorted the younger of the two Nord mages.</p><p>            “Onmund!” said the older one, more severely.</p><p>            “Sorry, Master Tolfdir,” Onmund mumbled.</p><p>            “Calla and Serana; we’re looking to join the College,” Calla said as they climbed down into the digging pit.</p><p>            “Calla? Would you be the mage from the College of Whispers?” Tolfdir asked curiously.</p><p>            “One and the same,” Calla confirmed. “I see my reputation precedes me.”</p><p>            Tolfdir smiled. “There aren’t so many Nord mages in the world that a Master Conjurer among them wouldn’t be known to others. Please, join us. We can talk to Mirabelle about enrolment afterwards.”</p><p>            “You’re a Nord?” Onmund asked.</p><p>            “Yes; my father was a Redguard with an Imperial father,” Calla answered.</p><p>            Saarthal had, after Ysgramor’s return, been turned into a tomb and so the draugr weren’t a surprise to Serana. Being trapped by a grate after Calla pulled an ivory amulet from a wall was until she managed to break open a bricked-up door. Tolfdir, eager to explore, joined them as his colleague Arniel Gane supervised the other apprentices.</p><p>            At one point, Serana and Tolfdir lost track of a few minutes while Calla had a vision. When they came back to themselves, she related the source – the Psijic Monks of the Aldmer – and Tolfdir’s mouth tightened. “Probably something to do with Ancano,” he said. “The Thalmor and the Psijics loathe each other.”</p><p>            “Tullius wanted me to investigate him,” Calla said grimly. “Looks like I’m dragooned into it whether I want to or not.”</p><p>            Yes, because they needed <em>another</em> crisis while her father was trying to destroy the sun.</p><p>            Serana decided to be honest and tell Tolfdir her origins as they went deeper into the tomb, only to be pleasantly surprised when he revealed they had a vampire-friendly healing potion made from horker blood. “Looks like horkers will be in my diet for the near future,” she observed wryly, earning a laugh from the old mage.</p><p>            Finding out that one of the three evil sons of Arch-Mage Gauldur was imprisoned in Saarthal alongside some magical sphere of immense size was just the cherry on the cake. But however powerful the draugr was, it had nothing on three very competent mages, two raised draugr and a Dremora Lord. It died – again – and the College found itself in possession of a very powerful Aedric artefact.</p><p>            “Something tells me, given the Thalmor’s ultimate metaphysical goal, we need to keep Ancano away from that thing,” Calla noted.</p><p>            “Ultimate goal?” Serana asked quietly.</p><p>            “They want to unravel the time-serpent and return Nirn to primordial formless divinity,” was her quiet answer.</p><p>            “They sound as crazy as my father.”</p><p>            “You have no fucking idea.”</p><p>            After that, being enrolled in the College didn’t take too long as Tolfdir vouched for their magical prowess, and both of them got rooms in the Hall of Countenance instead of the Hall of Attainment where the apprentices slept. J’zargo, the Khajiit, was quite put out by that but Brelyna and Onmund were more eager at the thought of new instructors.</p><p>            The blood potions tasted distressingly like horker but Serana was pleased to find herself at full power for the first time in ages. She hadn’t wanted to let Calla realise that animal blood was like scanty rations for a vampire, let she be perceived as a threat; they might be working together, but Serana had plenty of opportunity to observe Calla’s ruthlessness in dealing with threats and decided discretion was the better part of caution in this situation.</p><p>            But they finally had a solid lead on Elder Scrolls, albeit a very incoherent one that was probably touched by Hermaeus Mora. Now all they needed to do was find Septimus.</p><p>            Serana allowed herself a sigh of relief before going torpid for the day. Even Ancano couldn’t be as big a problem as her father.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Elder Knowledge</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for mentions of death, violence, fantastic racism and corpse desecration. The mages’ questline goes too damned quickly, so it will be spread out across two stories.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Falion speaks well of you,” Phinis Gestor said after reading the note. “And your own reputation precedes you. There’s little I can teach you if that’s what you’re looking for from me.”</p><p>            Calla clasped her hands together. “I’m sure you know a spell or two I don’t. But admittedly, I’m here to seek out information on the Volkihar vampires, Elder Scrolls and maybe a bit about this ‘Eye of Magnus’, though that’s a very low third on my list of priorities.”</p><p>            “If it’s Elder Scrolls you’re after, Septimus is the chap to speak to. Nuttier than a fruitcake due to communion with Hermaeus Mora, but I suspect a Whispers mage will be able to decipher his ramblings,” Phinis said airily. “As for the Volkihar, they’re rather reclusive. If you’re looking for immortality…”</p><p>            “I know for a fact Volkihar murdered the Vigilants at the Hall and are trying to bring about a prophecy called the ‘Tyranny of the Sun’,” Calla told him. “Serana’s trying to stop her father Harkon from destroying the sun or whatever he’s planning.”</p><p>            “Well, <em>that</em> puts a different complexion on things…” Phinis chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Is that why she’s running around with an Elder Scroll?”</p><p>            “Yep. Since the nearest Moth Priest is in Cyrodiil, we’ll have to speak to Septimus.”</p><p>            “Talk to Urag. He’ll know where the crazy old codger is,” Phinis advised. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to make sure Onmund doesn’t accidentally start a Daedric invasion during his summoning lesson.”</p><p>            Calla chuckled ruefully. “Let him Conjure a familiar in his own totem. That’s what worked for me – I tend to manifest a hawk instead of a wolf.”</p><p>            “What a practical idea. I remember the tutor before Falion – Catriona – writing about similar techniques.”</p><p>            “She’s my Granma,” Calla admitted cheerfully. “Gods with you.”</p><p>            “And you.”</p><p>            Serana was in the Arcaneum, talking to Urag. “Calla, we need to speak to someone named Septimus,” she called over.</p><p>            “Phinis said much the same thing. Hermaeus Mora’s got his tentacles into him, apparently.”</p><p>            “There’s no ‘apparently’ about it,” Urag rumbled. “Be careful. The Woodland Man is a tricky bastard.”</p><p>            “I know,” Calla said softly.</p><p>            Septimus lived about ten miles up the icy arse of nowhere, practically halfway to Atmora. He was, as noted, nuttier than a fruitcake and in his ramblings Calla recognised the hand of the Woodland Man. Hermaeus Mora was responsible for over half the Whispers mages who went full-on Daedric cultist, using and abusing his minions until every bit of knowledge was wrung dry from their bodies, then turning what was left into his twisted Daedra. Calla knew that she’d have to be very careful; if she fell, even the Madgoddess couldn’t save her.</p><p>            “So you’re the expert on Elder Scrolls,” she said to the mage as he poked and prodded at a Dwemer lock.</p><p>            “The Empire. They absconded with them. Or so they think. The ones they saw. The ones they thought they saw. I know of one. Forgotten. Sequestered. But I cannot go to it, not poor Septimus, for I... I have arisen beyond its grasp.” He dry-washed his hands, giving her a sly look.</p><p>            “You have an Elder Scroll?” Serana asked softly.</p><p>            “I've seen enough to know their fabric. The warp of air, the weft of time. But no, it is not in my possession.” He smiled ruefully. “One block lifts the other. Septimus will give you what you want, but you must bring him something in return.”</p><p>            “What do you want?” Calla asked bluntly.</p><p>            “You see this masterwork of the Dwemer. Deep inside their greatest knowings. Septimus is clever among men, but he is but an idiot child compared to the dullest of the Dwemer. Lucky then they left behind their own way of reading the Elder Scrolls. In the depths of Blackreach one yet lies. Have you heard of Blackreach? ‘Cast upon where Dwemer cities slept, the yearning spire hidden learnings kept.’</p><p>            “Sounds ominous,” Serana noted. “Where is Blackreach?”</p><p>            “Under deep. Below the dark. The hidden keep. Tower Mzark. Alftand. The point of puncture, of first entry, of the tapping. Delve to its limits, and Blackreach lies just beyond. But not all can enter there. Only Septimus knows the hidden key to loose the lock to jump beneath the deathly rock.”</p><p>            <em>Wonderful, now he’s branching out into bad poetry.</em> “How do we get in?” Calla asked calmly.</p><p>            “Two things I have for you. Two shapes. One edged, one round. The round one, for tuning. Dwemer music is soft and subtle, and needed to open their cleverest gates. The edged lexicon, for inscribing. To us, a hunk of metal. To the Dwemer, a full library of knowings. But... empty. Find Mzark and its sky-dome. The machinations there will read the Scroll and lay the lore upon the cube. Trust Septimus. He knows you can know.”</p><p>            “It would be another Dwemer ruin,” Calla groaned. “After Nchuand-Zel…”</p><p>            “Bad memories?” Serana asked.</p><p>            “I lost colleagues there. If Alftand’s half as bad as Nchuand-Zel was, I’m not going there without some muscle.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Thank you, Septimus.”</p><p>            “Bring me the edged lexicon and oh, the knowledge of the heart of all things will be mine,” he said complacently. “Go then, lift one block to move the other. My lord has watched you. He is patient.”</p><p>            “Goodbye,” Serana said quickly. “We need to get back now.”</p><p>            Outside, she shuddered. “If that’s what happens when you deal with the Woodland Man…”</p><p>            “Amen,” Calla agreed. “Back to the College?”</p><p>            “Yes. I’m sure they’ll know where Alftand is.”</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Dragon Rising</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism and corpse desecration.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’ve heard there’s a group of mercenaries called the Companions in Whiterun,” Calla mused as they left Winterhold. “Windhelm might have a sellsword or two, but since I’ve pissed off the Stormcloaks, it wouldn’t be the best option.”</p><p>            “The Companions aren’t mercenaries – at least, they weren’t in my day,” Serana answered. “They’re the arbiters of honour and the defenders of Skyrim.”</p><p>            “Well, apparently they can be hired these days,” Calla said with a shrug. “I just want some muscle to supplement our Conjured creatures because you can’t necromantically raise a Dwemer automaton.”</p><p>            “Agreed. I just hope they won’t be fussy.” Serana pursed her lips. “What about Fellglow Keep? Urag wants those books back.”</p><p>            “On the way through. We might as well get our septims’ worth from the sellswords.”</p><p>            The path from Winterhold took them to the great road east to Windhelm, and if the unlovely mass of stone on the edge of the sea was the city, no wonder the Stormcloaks were depressing racist bastards who hated anything resembling southern civilisation. It looked like the sort of city Sigdrifa should have been born in, not the pine forests of Falkreath.</p><p>            The road to Whiterun edged along a volcanic tundra and then plunged into a patch of pine forest at the foot of the Throat of the World. At the border was a fortress taken over by bandits, who provided them with free accommodation and some loot to sell in Whiterun after attacking them. Skyrim was declining into chaos and from what she saw, the state of the Old Holds didn’t bode well for the province’s future if her mother won.</p><p>            The plains of Whiterun were quite lovely, green-golden under the sunlight and dotted with a rainbow of wildflowers, crowned by a city that seemed to be the origin for every glorious city in Nord legend. There was something about the place that made Calla gasp with pleasure and even Serana looked impressed.</p><p>            Then their reverie was shattered by a thunderous roar and the shadow of wings as a monster swooped down from the clear blue sky and torched a watchtower in the west.</p><p>            “I thought dragons were dead!” Serana yelped.</p><p>            “Not dead, banished,” Calla answered automatically. “We’ve got your father trying to destroy the sun, a Thalmor trying to unravel time itself and now dragons. I’d ask what else could go wrong, but we’d probably wind up with another Oblivion Crisis.”</p><p>            “So don’t,” Serana said. “What do we do?”</p><p>            “That thing will be on us before we make the city.” Calla inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. “My ancestors used to kill dragons. All we can do is use Atronachs and Wards to keep it off our backs long enough to find some non-flammable shelter.”</p><p>            “Wonderful,” she said sourly. “Let’s go while it’s burning that tower.”</p><p>            Calla summoned a pair of Flame Atronachs, knotted her robes for easy running, and bolted for the stone windmill she could see across the river in the shadow of Whiterun’s walls. Serana followed suit but as they waded across the river, the dragon soared lazily over to the farms, saying something mockingly in the guttural Dragonish that should shape the world with its words.</p><p>            Calla Warded with one hand and cast Ebonyflesh on herself with the other, deflecting most of the beast’s fire breath. Serana swore and cast Raise Zombie on a dead chicken, sending the undead bird to attack the dragon’s eyes before following up with a lightning spell.</p><p>            “The Voice is magicka! Use shock spells!” Calla yelled as her own Chain Lightning crawled across its bronze skin.<em> Gods, I wish all those words I learned from Esbern and Wulfgar were actual Shouts…</em></p><p>“Brit grah! I had forgotten what fine sport mortals provided,” laughed the dragon.</p><p>            “How’s this for some sport?” Calla asked, lifting an abandoned pitchfork and throwing it at the dragon’s vulnerable belly. It drew blood but it seemed little more than a scratch…</p><p>            Help arrived after they’d spent five or six minutes dodging the damned beast and ducking behind stone walls or into the mill to chug a magicka potion. The Dunmer who led the squad of guards threw lightning at it as the archers peppered it with steel arrows. Slowly but surely the bronze scales were stained red from blood and the dragon’s wingbeats faltered.</p><p>            Calla drained her last magicka potion and threw everything she had into a Paralyse spell, aiming it at the wings. It struck in a burst of blue-green light and the dragon crashed head-first into a field full of cabbages. One of the guards dropped his bow, drew his steel greatsword, and hacked the dragon’s head off with several chops. “Dovahkiin? Niid!” were its last words.</p><p>            “Well, finally,” the Dunmer said disgustedly. “Somebody make sure that overgrown lizard’s dead.”</p><p>            Calla trudged over, feeling the magicka drain and potion-drunkenness in her bones, and then tripped on her own feet as it begun to burn up in an aethereal fire that roared with an audible surge of power. It circled in on her, sinking into her bones, and the first Word she ever remembered reading flashed across her closed eyes in a blinding afterimage.</p><p>            “YOL!” she Shouted.</p><p>            Thankfully, the Dunmer was between her and the Nords, and therefore took the brunt of the fiery Shout.</p><p>            “By the gods!” one of the guards blurted. “She’s the Dragonborn!”</p><p>            <em>No no no no no shit fuck gods-dammit-</em></p><p>Calla, for the first time in decades, fainted.</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Thane of Whiterun</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for mentions of death, violence, fantastic racism, corpse desecration, religious conflict, war crimes, imprisonment and genocide. Suffice to say, Dawnguard just got a lot more interesting.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Calla woke up in the Temple of Kynareth surrounded by golden chimes and the scent of lavender. “Easy,” said the High Priestess as she sat up. “You’re still suffering the aftereffects of the battle.”</p><p>            “Damn, it wasn’t a dream,” she muttered.</p><p>            “No.” The priestess was sympathetic. “You are the Dragonborn.”</p><p>            Calla’s subsequent language wasn’t fit for holy ground and somewhere in the background, someone gave a scandalised gasp. “I have enough shit going on in my life. I don’t need this!”</p><p>            “None of us do. But it has happened and you will save us.”</p><p>            Calla wished she could share the priestess’ faith. “Where’s my friend Serana?”</p><p>            “She’s staying at Dragonsreach.” The priestess paused. “We know of… her nature. But since she delivered the heads of every bandit leader in the Hold to the Jarl, Balgruuf is trusting that she has control over herself.”</p><p>            “She’s a friendly neighbourhood vampire, I suppose.” Calla got to her feet and swayed a little, but it wasn’t anything that could incapacitate her. “I suppose I better speak to the Jarl.”</p><p>            Dressed in a clean borrowed dress as her mage robes had been ruined in the fight with the dragon, she made her way up to Dragonsreach, which was an impressive fortress that rose above the city of Whiterun. She knew that a former Jarl had trapped a dragon here to keep as a prisoner or a pet – hence the palace’s name – and marvelled that it rivalled many of Cyrodiil’s keeps in size and grandeur.</p><p>            The inside was as impressive as the outside, Khajiit carpets lining the stairs and silverware from the Reach adorning the tables. Balgruuf, a rangy man with silver-threaded platinum-blond hair, lounged on a stallion-carved throne in indigo silk robes trimmed with white fox furs. Whiterun was the trading centre of Skyrim and it showed in the Jarl and his court.</p><p>            Serana was standing to the side, discussing something with the Dunmer in leather armour, and a balding Niben-man in fine cotton brocade was talking to a hefty Nord in scaled armour of the greatest quality. Three children in good garb were sitting to the side with bored, superior expressions on their faces.</p><p>            “I see our hero has arrived,” Balgruuf observed in the rich drawl that seemed to be the Whiterun accent. “Welcome to Dragonsreach, Dragonborn.”</p><p>            Calla winced. “Thanks, but I’m still trying to process it.”</p><p>            “Undoubtedly.” Balgruuf rose to his feet and everyone stopped what they were doing. “What no one could clear up for me is your name. Serana says it’s Calla, but my Steward Proventus tells me you are Aurelia Callaina.”</p><p>            “I prefer Calla, given the associations of my paternal lineage’s surname,” Calla told him candidly. “I’m under enough burdens at the moment. I don’t need more.”</p><p>            “Yes. Serana briefed me on the situation, which matches what I was sent by Isran of the Dawnguard and the rumours from the Reach.” Balgruuf stepped down from the dais. “I will call you Calla, as you prefer.”</p><p>            In Imperial protocol, Balgruuf was treating her as an equal by standing up and stepping down, and Calla wiped her hands on the skirt of her borrowed dress. “Thank you, Jarl Balgruuf. Your city is the most beautiful I’ve seen in a long time.”</p><p>            “Windhelm may have been the first and Solitude might be the capital by decree of the Empire, but Whiterun is the heart of Skyrim’s honour and wealth,” Balgruuf agreed with a smile. “That is why I’m making you a Thane of my city.”</p><p>            Calla blinked. “Isn’t there a property requirement and don’t I need to be known to your people?”</p><p>            “I’m waiving the first and after holding off a dragon for long enough so that my guard could respond, then paralysing the beast and absorbing its soul, I imagine the second has well and truly been fulfilled,” Balgruuf said dryly.</p><p>            “The Aurelii, my lord, are under indictment and may not hold noble rank or leadership positions in the Empire,” the Niben-man pointed out.</p><p>            “Fuck that,” Balgruuf said succinctly. “Calla has destroyed the Stormcloak presence in the Reach and my agents tell me that Sigdrifa’s running scared in Windhelm. Once it becomes known the Dragonborn is my Thane and sworn to defend Whiterun, Ulfric will back off… and the Empire might be a little more civil to me and mine.”</p><p>            “What’s your political game?” Calla asked him bluntly.</p><p>            Balgruuf smiled wryly. “I want Skyrim to be treated as more than a larder, a recruitment post and a treasury by the Empire. We saved Mede in the Great War and now he’s trying to extract as much as possible from my Hold without giving good return. I’m loyal to the Empire, as you are, but Ulfric’s rebellion came from some good reasons.”</p><p>            She nodded slowly. “I can work with that. For starters, you can recognise Ainethach as the rightful Jarl of the Reach. Secondly, we have a more pressing issue in the Volkihar vampires than the dragons, and I was actually coming to Whiterun to hire mercenaries to accompany to a Dwemer ruin which might contain an Elder Scroll. Serana and I are both formidable mages, but the last time I went to a Dwemer ruin, I was one of two survivors – and that was a team with several mages and Legionaries. I want quality, not quantity.”</p><p>            “Companions are the best, but they run at a thousand septims per job,” Balgruuf answered, rubbing his goateed chin. “As Thane, you’re entitled to a huscarl – I was going to pick my niece Lydia. She’s young but she’s competent. There’s Jenassa at the Drunken Huntsman – she’s… well, she’s competent but she’s probably ex-Morag Tong. And if you can beat Uthgerd the Unbroken in a brawl, she’ll probably follow you for nothing.”</p><p>            Calla snorted. “I survived the Anvil Third. I have a mean right-hook when necessary.”</p><p>            Balgruuf chuckled. “Undoubtedly.”</p><p>            She sighed. “You know I’m a Master Conjurer of the College of Whispers, right? No, I don’t worship Daedra, but I can and do summon Dremora Lords in battle.”</p><p>            Balgruuf nodded. “I do. Just don’t use Conjuration on my citizens. As Thane, you have a responsibility to protect them, not exploit them.”</p><p>            “I must admit, I do savour the thought of Ulfric and his goons being set alight by Dremora mages and Flame Atronachs,” the Dunmer added with an evil grin.</p><p>            “Well,” Serana observed quietly, “You’re now a Thane of Whiterun. Congratulations, Calla.”</p><p>            Balgruuf gave Serana an apologetic smile. “I could stretch the rules for a Conjurer but not a vampire, Lady Serana. Understand you are always welcome in Whiterun and that I’m grateful for your assistance over the past few days.”</p><p>            She shrugged. “I understand. I’m just grateful you’re not arming your churls with pitchforks and calling in the Vigilants.”</p><p>            “Speaking of vampires, I’m going to need some new robes,” Calla said apologetically. “I can enchant them myself – prefer to, in fact – but does your court wizard sell plain robes?”</p><p>            “No. But you and my late wife were of a size. I can get you something suitable to a noblewoman that you can enchant,” Balgruuf offered quietly. “Svanhild would understand.”</p><p>            Calla nodded. “I’ll take it. Thank you.”</p><p>            “You saved my city. It’s the least I can do.”</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. A Fair Warning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for mentions of death, violence, fantastic racism and corpse desecration.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Egil happened to be in Ivarstead with his cavalry troop, tracking down Florentius Bassianus (a Priest of Arkay who Irkand claimed was a true prophet and who Isran called insane), when he met his sister and the vampire she happened to be working with. Calla was clad in fine leaf-green wool, reddish fox furs and silver jewellery including a moonstone-set circlet, all of which glittered with enchantment that increased her spell-casting and magicka-regeneration capabilities, and carried a staff of carved wood set with a ball of cloudy quartz. Her vampire friend wore plum-purple and black leather in the Volkihar style, her black hair arranged in a coronet of braids, and wore almost as much silver jewellery. Both of them were accompanied by a hard-eyed female Dunmer in chitin armour, a carrot-haired Nord woman of middle years in steel plate and a dark-haired younger Nord who looked vaguely familiar.</p><p>            “On your way to Fort Dawnguard?” Egil asked as they met each other on the bridge into town.</p><p>            “No,” Calla said tersely. “High Hrothgar and then the Dwemer ruin Alftand.”</p><p>            Egil inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Why?”</p><p>            “We’ve been chasing leads through the College of Winterhold,” the vampire answered in a sweet low voice. She wore a hood against the westering afternoon sunlight and from what Egil could see, most of her garb included fire resistance enchantments. “Don’t worry, we intended to send everything we knew to Isran.”</p><p>            “And given Isran’s general attitude, we felt a bit of distance was the better part of diplomacy,” Calla added. “Tell him he can count on Balgruuf’s support and once we’ve gotten what we need from Alftand, I’ll be able to help a little more directly.”</p><p>            “Balgruuf finally got off the fence?” Egil asked in disbelief.</p><p>            “No. He just feels dragons and vampires are a little more important than a political pissing match,” Calla retorted dryly.</p><p>            Leif, Egil’s second, spoke before Egil could. “So the rumours about Helgen are true?”</p><p>            “I couldn’t say, but I can vouch for the dragon that attacked Whiterun, seeing as it did its best to set me on fire,” Calla said, her tone still dryly sardonic. “Why have one apocalypse when you can have three, apparently?”</p><p>            “Which one of you is the Dragonborn?” Leif asked bluntly.</p><p>            Calla inclined her head, a mocking smile on her lips.</p><p>            “You have got to be fucking kidding me!” Egil blurted.</p><p>            “That was more or less my response. I already know two Words of Fire Breath and it seems my ability to translate Dragonish wasn’t from my childhood tutor being the Blades loremaster, but the innate gift of being Dragonborn,” Calla answered calmly. “Balgruuf has made me a Thane of Whiterun. I strongly suggest you inform your father and our mother that I will defend that city to the best of my fire-breathing, Daedra-summoning ability. What I did to the Silver-Bloods and Kottir Red-Shoal will seem like child’s play if they think to attack Whiterun… and if they should take advantage of my preoccupation with Harkon, Ancano and Alduin to try, whether they succeed or fail, I will come for them <em>personally.</em>”</p><p>            “So you’re allied to the Empire that destroyed your family?” Leif asked as Egil gawped.</p><p>            “Titus Mede is eighty-something and will do us the very great favour of dying soon. His heir, Akaviria, holds quite a bit of promise,” was her reply. “I am loyal to the Empire my ancestors fought and died for, what it could be and should be. If Dawnstar and Winterhold are an example of what a ‘free Skyrim’ under the rule of Ulfric and my mother would be like, the province will be begging for readmittance within a decade because it will be an isolated, impoverished shithole ruled by a pair of petty tyrants with massive psychological issues.”</p><p>            Leif’s horse danced back as the lieutenant inadvertently tightened his grip on the reins. “You, woman, are terrifying.”</p><p>            “Good. I’m hoping my half-brothers will show a little sense and reconsider their political allegiances. I couldn’t save Ulfric and Sigdrifa if I wanted to – and believe me, I don’t.” Calla regarded the cavalry with one raised eyebrow. “I fully intend to turn the Thu’um on Harkon and his ilk. This isn’t the doom I’d have picked, but it’s the one I’m stuck with, and I will serve the world as best as I can with it.”</p><p>            “Are you hoping the Empire will throw you a bone?” Egil managed to choke out. “Mede will use you and once Alduin is dead, he’ll send the Penitus Oculatus to kill you as a threat to his throne.”</p><p>            “And Sigdrifa wouldn’t do the same if I were to raise my Voice for the Stormcloaks?” Calla shook her head. “Mede might try to send me on a suicide mission, but he damned well knows if he and the Elder Council were to act directly against me, my great-great-grandmother will get involved and the Medes will degenerate into madness and ruin. I’m hoping I don’t have to lift my Voice against you and Bjarni and even Mother. That’s why I’m offering this fair warning.”</p><p>            “More than they deserve, if you ask me, my Thane,” remarked the dark-haired girl.</p><p>            “Erandur advised me to try showing some mercy and compassion,” Calla answered dryly. “Look at me trying.”</p><p>            She inclined her head to Egil once more. “Don’t attack Whiterun. Or the Reach. Or the Stormcloaks will lament my name until the end of days.”</p><p>            She and her group walked around the cavalry and towards the bridge that led to the Seven Thousand Steps, leaving Egil and his soldiers to shudder in fear and dismay.</p><p>            <em>“What you do in the world is returned threefold,”</em> Keeper Carcette used to say. Until now, he didn’t quite understand it. Now that he did, he was fearful of the monster his mother had created.</p><p>            Stendarr have mercy on them all, because the Dragonborn probably wouldn’t.</p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Family Curse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism and mentions of corpse desecration, war crimes, genocide and religious conflict.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a long walk to Ivarstead, a difficult confrontation with Egil, and a longer climb up to High Hrothgar. Even with two mages and three warriors, there had been trouble with bandits, wild animals (including an entire cave full of bears), a frost troll and some ice wraiths on the slopes of the Throat of the World. Calla and Serana were now adults by Nord standards, according to Lydia and Uthgerd. That was something, she supposed.</p><p>            High Hrothgar was a literal fortress cradled in a plateau just below the mountain’s peak, which made sense as the Thu’um was quite destructive, and its resident monks survived on donated supplies from Ivarstead. Calla left the pack of food Klimmek had asked her to deliver in the offerings chest and then climbed up the stairs to the door. Lydia and Uthgerd were setting up camp while Jenassa skinned the various beasties they’d killed and Serana set up defensive runes. They’d had two days to fall into a pattern that worked for everyone.</p><p>            Inside, the interior was as bleak as the exterior, with a solitary man with hair of frost and iron, bright blue eyes, and a nose and complexion as beaky and olive-bronze as her own. “So... a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age,” he remarked.</p><p>            “As you called, so I came,” Calla answered.</p><p>            “We will see if you truly have the gift,” he said as three other Greybeards filed in. “Show us, Dragonborn. Let us taste of your Voice.”</p><p>            “Better have some water handy,” she advised. “The only Shout I’m familiar with is the fire-breathing one.”</p><p>            One of the Greybeards, a tall saturnine Nord who looked familiar, snorted and even that slight sound had the crack of thunder. But they each stepped to the side so that she could aim her Shout at the carved pillar.</p><p>            “YOL TOOR!” Calla Shouted, a blast of fire washing over the craggy grey stone and leaving scorch marks in its wake.</p><p>            “Dragonborn. It <em>is</em> you. Welcome to High Hrothgar.” The chief Greybeard’s tone sounded more alarmed than welcoming. “I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards. Now, tell me, Dragonborn, why have you come here?”</p><p>            “Courtesy call,” Calla admitted once she could speak again. “I’ve got a little vampire problem that seems to be more immediate than Alduin, but I didn’t want you to think I was ignoring you. I can only handle one apocalypse at a time, even with the Thu’um.”</p><p>            Arngeir’s eyebrow rose. “I don’t understand.”</p><p>            “Well, we have Harkon of Volkihar trying to destroy the sun so that vampires can rule the world, there’s a Thalmor agent up at the College of Winterhold who’s eyeing a massive Aedric artefact known as the Eye of Magnus as a possible means to unravel the time-serpent, and now we have the World-Eater preparing for a multicourse feast,” she told him with a sigh. “Harkon’s a little more proactive than the other two, so he needs to be dealt with first.”</p><p>            “I see.” Arngeir sighed, the gust of his breath stirring his hair. “We shall begin your teaching with Unrelenting Force. It is usually the first Shout a Dragonborn learns.”</p><p>            The next two days had Calla learning the first two Words of Unrelenting Force, the first Word of Whirlwind Sprint, and the ethics behind the Way of the Voice. Lovely philosophy but she was in a world of vampires and dragons that would require the constant use of Fire Breath to keep in check. On the third day, she was dispatched with a mission to desecrate the grave of the Greybeards’ founder and return his sacred horn to them to receive more training. Of course, it was in Hjaalmarch, land of the creepy tombs and bog people.</p><p>            She left High Hrothgar and would not see it for months. She had too much to do.</p><p>…</p><p>“Feeling any urge to conquer and dominate Skyrim yet?” Serana asked as they left Ivarstead. “The old stories about dragons…”</p><p>            “Are probably true. There’s plenty of offending parties to Shout the shit out of for me to resist the urge to conquer the world,” Calla answered. “Talos did that and look what we have now.”</p><p>            Uthgerd frowned. “He united Tamriel.”</p><p>            “By killing a lot of people, lying to the rest and using every dirty trick in the book,” Calla countered. “Talos and the Blades were the absolute worst things for each other. Never give a ruthless overlord a horde of masterless minions who’ll do anything they’re told. It ends badly.”</p><p>            Serana had to laugh. She knew Calla was referring to Tiber Septim, aka the latest aspect of Shor called Talos, who might be an ancestor of hers – but it certainly applied to Harkon as well. “Amen. So, Alftand?”</p><p>            “Yes. I want this second Elder Scroll and whatever information we can pry out of it. Then we go to Isran with concrete evidence and a plan.” Calla pushed back her hair. “My family is cursed to live in interesting times, usually during an apocalyptic event, that we’re responsible for solving. The first to suffer such was Marius, the Eternal Champion, during the years of the Imperial Simulacrum and a few years later his mother Ralinde had the pleasure of sorting out the shitshow that was the Warp in the West. A couple decades later we have the Oblivion Crisis, which saw my ancestress Aurelia Northstar go fist-to-toe with Mehrunes Dagon himself while Martin Septim sacrificed himself to save the world from Oblivion. That ended with her becoming an aspect of Sheogorath and him becoming an Avatar of Akatosh.”</p><p>            “At least you can’t blame the Nerevarine on your family,” Jenassa noted sardonically.</p><p>            “If my family had been involved, all of Vvardenfell would have gone splat, not the majority of it,” Calla agreed sourly. “Now I have three apocalypses to deal with. If this is a test of my abilities, the gods have far more confidence in me than I do.”</p><p>            “Don’t worry,” Uthgerd said mildly. “You have us on your side and the ability to breathe fire. I’ve never met the vampire or the elf that isn’t flammable.”</p><p>            “Or the dragon that won’t eventually die,” Lydia added chirpily. “We’ll win. You’ll see.”</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. The Oghma Infinium</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism and corpse desecration. Sorry for the delay, had a meh couple of days.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alftand managed to be worse than Nchuand-Zel in that the bodies of a failed expedition littered the ruins that once housed the Dwemer, but far better in that Fire Breath and Unrelenting Force equalised the battles Calla’s group faced in the depths considerably. On reaching the entrance to Blackreach, they came upon the two leaders of the last expedition fighting each other; an icy spear took care of the Cyrod as the Redguard had spoken of not fighting. <em>“Enough,”</em> she said firmly as the woman stepped back, stunned. “The way out is clear. Take what you want and go.”</p><p>            “Sulla, he wouldn’t listen,” the Redguard said shakily. “Those things, how did you get past…?”</p><p>            “We were more cohesive and I used to lead a squad of battlemages in the Legion,” Calla admitted. “Can you please get out of the way? I need to open a stairway into Blackreach.”</p><p>            “Could you use an extra sword?” the Redguard asked suddenly. “I… owe you my life.”</p><p>            Calla glanced at the others and Serana nodded. “Fine. But if you piss me off, I’ll kill you and then my friend will raise your corpse to fight for us.”</p><p>            Umana did not betray them as they entered the subterranean world of Blackreach, where strange glowing fungi replaced trees and the Falmer ran rampant. The final touch of Dwemer fuckery lay in the dragon that had been imprisoned within the orange orb that warmed the area like a sun, which was released when Calla used Unrelenting Force to throw a Falmer shaman into the sky. It died under the blades and spells of three warriors and two Dremora Lords, the latter of whom actually looked pleased to have a ‘worthy opponent’. Calla would keep that in mind for the future.</p><p>            Aside from the crimson nirnroot Calla collected out of curiosity and the geodes that produced soul gems, there was little profit in wandering around Blackreach until they found where the Elder Scroll was kept. Working out the Dwemer mechanisms to release it took half a day, then they camped for the rest of the ‘night’ and emerged from the Tower of Mzark overlooking Hjaalmarch as the sun reached its zenith. She carried the edged lexicon with her; Septimus had given her the key to what she needed and so she’d deliver his price. A Nord kept their bargains.</p><p>            “Would anyone mind if I pay a visit to Septimus before we head down to Fort Dawnguard?” Calla asked that night as they camped in the hills of the Pale. “We’re closer to him than the Rift.”</p><p>            “He’s insane,” Serana pointed out. “And it’s fairly obvious he’s touched by the Woodland Man.”</p><p>            “I know. But we made a bargain.” Calla studied the edged lexicon. “I do find myself curious as to what’s in that vault.”</p><p>            “It’s your choice, my Thane,” Lydia noted.</p><p>            Umana chewed her lip. “The Woodland Man?”</p><p>            “Hermaeus Mora,” Calla admitted. “I don’t know what old Many-Eyes wants with this, but…”</p><p>            Uthgerd frowned. “I can look past summoning Dremora, but dealing with a Daedric Prince?”</p><p>            “Have you ever heard of Aurelia Northstar?” Calla asked the carrot-haired warrior.</p><p>            “The Hero of Kvatch? Certainly.”</p><p>            “That’s my grandfather’s grandmother. After Martin Septim died and she delivered her son Julius Martin, she went to the Shivering Isles and came back as the Madgoddess,” Calla said quietly. “I’ll probably need to call on Her by the time this is over. Can you live with knowing the fact that the Dragonborn’s descended from a Daedric Prince? If not, I’ll release you from your oath and hold no grudge.”</p><p>            “A Nord keeps her promises,” Uthgerd said quietly. “Whatever you are, you comport yourself as a Nord. Just… be careful.”</p><p>            “I will. You and Umana had better wait in Winterhold, though. You’ll sink in that plate on the icefields.”</p><p>            Calla, Serana, Jenassa and Lydia stopped by the College to advise Mirabelle and Urag of what had happened. The Master Wizard was beside herself with glee at the fact that the Dragonborn was part of the College’s faculty and a noble to boot. “You have diplomatic immunity in all of Skyrim’s Holds,” she told Calla. “Don’t be afraid to use it.”</p><p>            <em>That</em> was news to Calla.</p><p>            Nothing more had yet been figured out about the Eye of Magnus, though it had been moved from Saarthal to the Hall of the Elements, and Tolfdir mused it might have been why the Falmer killed the Atmorani of Saarthal. Interesting, but ancient history. Acano had been sniffing around it but since he’d done nothing, the College couldn’t act, and so Calla went north to Septimus’ outpost.</p><p>            There, the mad scholar gave her an essence extractor to collect blood from various merish races to open the Dwemer vault, which was irritating but not impossible. Jenassa donated a few drops, some creative use of Alteration extracted blood from the Falmer ears she’d harvested for alchemical use and purified her own blood to provide Orcish blood, and nearby enclaves of bandits and necromancers provided the rest. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Lydia observed as they returned to the outpost.</p><p>            Calla refrained from mentioning that she hoped she did too. A commander needed to at least look like they had a good idea about what they were doing.</p><p>            <strong><em>“Well, well,”</em></strong> mused a deep, sepulchral voice as she opened the door to the outpost. <strong><em>“Another Dragonborn seeks My assistance. Are you another Miraak?”</em></strong></p><p>“Hardly,” Calla said dryly. “I like to think I’m competent.”</p><p>            <strong><em>“Hmm. We shall see. Once you open the vault, Septimus will be obsolete. You shall take his place as My emissary. What do you say, Dragonborn?”</em></strong></p><p>“Remember the bit when I said I was more competent than Miraak? That includes the fact I won’t make the choices he did. I’m happy enough to work with you on occasion, but there’s no power that can hold the soul of a Dragonborn against their will. I don’t recommend trying to make me your minion, Woodland Man. You may find yourself regretting it.”</p><p>            <strong><em>“Your confidence is amusing. We shall what happens in the end.”</em></strong> Hermaeus Mora chuckled. <strong><em>“You will still serve a purpose. As for the rest… only time will tell.”</em></strong></p><p>It wasn’t the Heart of Lorkhan in the vault but instead the Oghma Infinium, as written by Xarxes and bound by the skins of all sentient creatures.</p><p>            <strong><em>“Now you have My Oghma Infinium. It contains the knowledge of the ages as revealed to Xarxes, My loyal servant. For hundreds of years it's been shut away from the world. Septimus was a useful tool for unleashing it. Now it is in your hands. Let us work wonders together...”</em></strong></p><p>Calla’s hands convulsed as the book fell open, intricate sigils and runes not unlike the ones on the Eye of Magnus twining in shapes as complex as Reach-style knotwork, and her understanding of the Schools of magic in which she wasn’t a master increased within heartbeats.</p><p>            It crumbled into dust and the sense of Hermaeus Mora’s presence vanished. But like a storm on the horizon, Calla could still sense him.</p><p>            <em>Nothing can hold the soul of a dragon,</em> she reminded herself. <em>Not even a Daedric Prince.</em></p><p>In the distance, like the echo of thunder, she could hear the Woodland Man laugh.</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Working with Self-Interest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for mentions of death, violence, fantastic racism and corpse desecration.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Calla arrived two days after Irkand and Durak had returned with the Moth Priest Dexion, accompanied by the vampire Serana, her huscarl Lydia, a Nord warrior named Uthgerd the Unbroken, a Dunmer sellsword named Jenassa and a Redguard named Umana. Egil, who was drilling some of the new Dawnguard in the use of the crossbow, saw them arrive and handed over his pupils to Celann. Someone, for the sake of the Stormcloaks, had to keep an eye on the Dragonborn.</p><p>            “You deign to join us,” Isran noted as Egil entered the central hall. “Do you have it under control?”</p><p>            “Her name is Serana and she’s proven to be quite in control of her predatory impulses,” Calla answered calmly. “After all, plenty of scum around who would improve life by the leaving of it for her to feed on.”</p><p>            “Even if I didn’t owe Calla a favour, the woman can breathe fire,” Serana observed in that sweet low voice. “It’d be counterproductive to betray the woman who can suck out a dragon’s soul like a pip from a cherry.”</p><p>            Isran grunted. “I can agree with that. So what took you so long?”</p><p>            “We were tracking a second Elder Scroll when a dragon attacked Whiterun,” Calla told him candidly. “Had to go to High Hrothgar, then to the College, and the Dwemer ruin known as Alftand.”</p><p>            “Dexion did say there were <em>three</em> involved,” Irkand said quietly. “Sun, Blood and Dragon.”</p><p>            “So he did.” Isran nodded to Calla and her friends. “We’ve got spare bunks. Find a place and set yourselves up if you need to.”</p><p>            “Calla, we should set out tomorrow,” Serana said softly. “I think I know where my mother stashed the Blood Scroll and… well, forgive me, but Lydia and the others will get in the way.”</p><p>            Calla nodded to the vampire. “Sure. Just let me brief Isran and his command on what we know.”</p><p>            “My Thane, you’re not leaving me behind, are you?” Lydia protested.</p><p>            “We need to infiltrate my old home,” Serana told her. “Unless you know how to sneak…”</p><p>            “You can accompany us until we get to Castle Volkihar,” Calla told her huscarl. “Whatever kind of security Harkon’s got, it’ll be toast – literally.”</p><p>            “Thank you, my Thane.” Lydia smiled sweetly. “I know you and Serana can roll over almost anything, but I’d feel easier accompanying you.”</p><p>            Calla smiled, then clasped her hands together. “Jenassa, report to Irkand. My uncle isn’t called Death’s Blade for kicks and giggles. Who knows, you might learn something.”</p><p>            “Jenassa… Morag Tong, right?” Irkand asked the Dunmer.</p><p>            “I was. Lost my faith in the Tribunal and the ‘Reclamations’ don’t impress me much,” the womer answered. “Blade and shadow, silence and death – these are my arts. For a modest fee, I’ll make great art for you.”</p><p>            Egil grimaced, though he had to admit Irkand and his scouts were more effective in certain quarters than the cavalry or Durak’s warriors.</p><p>            “Uthgerd, Umana, lend a hand where you can or leave as you wish,” Calla continued to the two warriors. “Alduin’s pausing to savour his feast but Harkon’s being a little more proactive.”</p><p>            “Killing vampires is as good work as any,” Umana, the Redguard, said simply. “I’d have died in Alftand if it wasn’t for you.”</p><p>            “I saw a couple knights drilling in the vale outside,” Uthgerd mused. “I can teach them a few things.”</p><p>            “Good.” Calla brought her fingers to her hands and blew through them. “Isran, Uncle, we need to talk.”</p><p>            The two Redguard men went off with her into the right tower, leaving the others to their own devices. Egil knew better than to follow them, so he went back to the cave where Sorine Jurard was improving her crossbow designs. That weapon was the single greatest reason – aside from avenging the Vigilants – to assist the Dawnguard. It would render the Imperial heavy infantry obsolete.</p><p>            Like Calla, he had other duties – and he wouldn’t let the Dragonborn scare him away from shirking them.</p><p>…</p><p>“Well, that’s pretty damned useful,” Isran observed after Calla had demonstrated her ability to set almost anything on fire. “We’re eventually going to assault Castle Volkihar. Having a fire-breathing Dragonborn will clear a lot of bloodsuckers in our way in a hurry.”</p><p>            Calla nodded in wry agreement. She seemed different – or maybe it was just the understanding that in her, the Aurelii’s blood had come to fulfilment. “Harkon really should have made some better choices in his unlife. Serana’s told me a few things and I want to kill him on principle.”</p><p>            “Compassion, Dragonborn?”</p><p>            “Isran, I might be an unrepentant Conjurer who’s read the Oghma Infinium and given the finger to a minimum of two Daedric Princes, but it doesn’t mean I’m a complete and utter ruthless bitch,” Calla told him frankly. “You want one of those, go to Windhelm. Maybe Mother will have stopped shitting herself at my existence by now.”</p><p>            Irkand swallowed his laughter… then the import of her words sunk in. <em>“You read the Oghma Infinium?”</em></p><p>            “Yes, I did. Hermaeus Mora might think I’ll dance to his tune but no dragon’s soul may be bound against their will. Absorbed, yes. But it’ll take more than the Woodland Man to bind me.” Calla’s gaze was stark. “We have the blood and affinity for Daedric power in us whether we want it or not, Uncle. I’ve chosen to make use of it.”</p><p>            “I don’t give a shit if you’re fucking Sanguine on the sly while drinking with Sheogorath every weekend,” Isran said bluntly. “I need to know that you’ll be there when we bring the hurt to those damned bloodsuckers.”</p><p>            “I’ll be there with bells on,” Calla promised. “But I need you to trust that Serana and I know what we’re doing. I don’t tell you how to kill vampires; don’t tell me how to unravel a Daedric prophecy or handle an Elder Scroll.”</p><p>            Isran grunted. “Fine. You’ll probably get in my way anyway.”</p><p>            Calla grinned. “I’d say the same about you.”</p><p>            Later on, when they’d retired to bed, Irkand turned to Isran. “Thank you for your confidence in my niece.”</p><p>            Isran sighed. “It isn’t confidence. If she’s going to play with fire, I’d prefer the blowing up wasn’t in <em>my</em> face. But you’re taking her revelations quite well.”</p><p>            “She’s right,” Irkand admitted with a sigh of his own. “I can only trust that she has some basic decency. She keeps her promises and bargains. Serana, too, has every reason to work with us.”</p><p>            “I can work with self-interest,” Isran agreed, reaching for him. They’d fallen back together as if their last blazing row had never happened, and it gave Irkand a sense of normality in a world gone mad.</p><p>            There wasn’t much he could do for Calla, never had been. All he could for the moment was worry about himself and his duties.</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Beyond Death</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism, corpse desecration and mentions of torture, imprisonment and rape/non-con.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Be careful, my Thane,” Lydia said as they clasped forearms.</p><p>            “I will be,” Calla promised. “Stay safe.”</p><p>            “I’ll be safer than you,” the huscarl said wryly.</p><p>            Once Lydia had left the docks to hire a room in Solitude’s inn, Calla and Serana took a walk around the harbour until they were out of sight of the East Empire Trade Company workers, then the vampire assumed her Vampire Lord form and Calla took the shape of a sea-eagle. Shapeshifting was difficult but it was an art the Matriarchs of the Reach excelled in, and Catriona had done her best to make sure her granddaughter was proficient. With wings, it only took a few hours to reach Castle Volkihar, and the few unnatural hawks flying around them were swiftly dispatched by Serana’s talons.</p><p>            They landed at a side entrance to what had been Serana’s mother’s personal quarters, dealt with the few skeletons guarding the place, and slipped inside. Reaching the garden, which had once been an alchemist’s paradise, they quickly found the key to entering the tower and Valerica’s once-impressive workroom.</p><p>            “The College of Whispers would <em>kill</em> to get their hands on half these volumes,” Calla said, impressed, as she did a quick scan of the shelves. “Some of these books have been lost for centuries.”</p><p>            “Assuming Isran and his goons don’t level the place, help yourself to them,” Serana said with one of her rare smiles. “My mother would want the knowledge to be preserved.”</p><p>            Calla rubbed her hands together in glee. “I might send word to the College’s elders. A new cynosure would certainly make good use of this place.”</p><p>            “What about the College of Winterhold?”</p><p>            “Not while Savos is running it. Mirabelle’s competent enough, but Aren has his head up his arse.” Calla pulled her attention away from the books and gave Serana a sympathetic glance. “Your mother’s loss must have been hard.”</p><p>            “She might be alive.” Serana sighed. “My family were never close. I was a means to an end for my father and a protégé for my mother, not really a daughter.”</p><p>            “Your mother sounds better than mine,” Calla answered. “Mine left me to the mercy of the Empire after my grandfather’s failed rebellion and pretended I never existed so she could have proper Nord babies for Talos with that renegade Jarl Ulfric.”</p><p>            “What about your father?”</p><p>            “He was fighting in Hammerfell for years after the Great War ended, and by the time he found out I was alive, he couldn’t do much because the Empire wanted his head for various things.” Calla shook her head. “We’ve exchanged a few letters, that’s all. I was mostly raised by the Imperial Workhouse and my granma Catriona, a Hagraven of Hircine. The Emperor would have arranged an ‘accident’ except my Daedric Prince ancestor threatened to turn his entire family into gibbering lunatics if he tried.”</p><p>            Serana snorted. “No wonder you’re so popular.”</p><p>            “Oh, once it gets out I’m the Dragonborn who’s willing to defend the Empire, the Elder Council’s going to eat a lot of crow.” Calla looked around the study again. “Let’s find this Elder Scroll.”</p><p>            They didn’t find the Elder Scroll, but they did find a portal into the Soul Cairn. “Your mother had tits of ebony to pull this off,” Calla said in awe as the portal opened up. “Whatever else she was, none can doubt her courage and ingenuity.”</p><p>            “She always was gifted,” Serana agreed softly.</p><p>            “So, what now? I’m not sure one of the living can enter that thing safely, judging by the necromantic energy pouring out of it,” Calla said. “Do I wait here and hold the line?”</p><p>            “No.” Serana inhaled and exhaled. “We have two choices. I turn you into a vampire or I partially soul trap you.”</p><p>            “How do you ‘partially soul trap’ someone?” Calla asked in disbelief.</p><p>            “I take a fragment of your soul, offer it to the Ideal Masters, and in return you receive a little piece of Oblivion in you.” Serana’s smile was rueful. “Given your ancestry and nature, I don’t think it’s going to change much beyond giving you more of an affinity for necromancy.”</p><p>            “And I’m not sure a Dragonborn can become a vampire,” Calla said grimly. <em>“Do it.”</em></p><p>            It was painful, to say the least, but once it was done they were able to plunge into the Soul Cairn in search of Valerica and/or an Elder Scroll.</p><p>…</p><p>Serana could never quite say how long it took them to find her mother as they crisscrossed the Soul Cairn, finding oddities and strange creatures, fighting off the denizens of the place and even trading in soul husks with a soul-trapped merchant for various treasures. Calla gathered everything she could, from the skull of a soul-trapped horse that would allow her to summon its ghost as a steed to the lost pages of some Dunmer’s writings. There were soul gems able to be gathered in the fissures that cracked the earth and unwholesome creatures that provided spells. They even reclaimed the strength lost to Calla in the partial soul trapping.</p><p>            At one point, when they encountered a pair of Nord men being attacked by bonemen, Calla burst out laughing. “I should’ve guessed the Reachfolk soul-trapped those bastards!” she said gleefully.</p><p>            “Not friends of yours?” Serana asked dryly.</p><p>            “Oh, they were allies of the rebels who tried to frame me for murder,” she said cheerfully. “They’d abused the Reachfolk something fierce and the Ard Ri managed to kill them both.”</p><p>            Serana grinned. “Well, sucks to be them.”</p><p>            They eventually found Valerica trapped in the far corner of the Soul Cairn. “Serana, what are <em>you</em> doing here?” she demanded.</p><p>            “We need to talk. How do we get in there?” Serana asked, nettled that her mother’s first words had been to treat her as a child.</p><p>            “I must have failed. Gods, you’re here for the Elder Scroll! How could you fall for your father’s idiocy-?”</p><p>            “If you shut up for five minutes, Serana can fill you in on what you’ve missed for the past couple thousand years,” Calla interrupted harshly.</p><p>            “You brought a stranger here? What possessed you?” Valerica demanded shrilly.</p><p>            “This ‘stranger’ has done more for me in the brief time I've known her than you've done in centuries!” Serana yelled. “Father doesn’t know we’re here, Calla’s a Dragonborn like Miraak, and we’re going to fulfil the prophecy our way and not his!”</p><p>            “How dare you! I gave up everything I cared about to protect you from that fanatic you call a father!” Valerica shrieked.</p><p>            “She even sounds like my mother,” Calla muttered.</p><p>            “Yes, he's a fanatic... he's changed. But he's still my father. Why can't you understand how that makes me feel?” Serana retorted.</p><p>            “Oh, Serana. If you'd only open your eyes. The moment your father discovers your role in the prophecy, that he needs your blood, you'd be in terrible danger,” Valerica lamented, switching tactics from outrage to sorrow.</p><p>            Serana had had enough. “So to protect me you decided to shut me away from everything I cared about? You never asked me if hiding me in that tomb was the best course of action, you just expected me to follow you blindly. Both of you were obsessed with your own paths. Your motivations might have been different, but in the end, I'm still just a pawn to you, too. I want us to be a family again. But I don't know if we can ever have that. Maybe we don't deserve that kind of happiness. Maybe it isn't for us. But we have to stop him. Before he goes too far. And to do that, we need the Elder Scroll.”</p><p>            Valerica blanched, no mean feat for a vampire. “I'm sorry, Serana. I didn't know... I didn't see. I've allowed my hatred of your father to estrange us for too long. Forgive me. If you want the Elder Scroll, it's yours.”</p><p>            “So how do we get it?” Calla asked bluntly.</p><p>            “You need to locate the tallest of the rocky spires that surround these ruins. At their bases, the barrier's energy is being drawn from unfortunate souls that have been exiled here. Destroy the Keepers that are tending them, and it should bring the barrier down,” Valerica answered shakily. “Dovahkiin… believe me, I had only the best intentions for my daughter. It’s her blood that’s key to the prophecy Harkon seeks to fulfil. If he gets his hands on her…”</p><p>            Calla’s gaze was steely. “I assume Harkon’s as flammable as anyone else if I use Fire Breath on him. Serana’s a friend and I don’t have many of those.”</p><p>            “I imagine you wouldn’t. Great power distances the likes of us from the ordinary clay that is mortal man.” Valerica inclined her head. “Old gods with you.”</p><p>            “Serana,” Calla murmured as they walked towards the spires, “Would you be offended if I called your mother the greatest cunt I’ve ever known since the Shieldbitch that is my own mother?”</p><p>            She was startled into a laugh. “She’s my mother.”</p><p>            “The two states aren’t mutually exclusive. Given what I know of the rituals that make a Daughter of Coldharbour, Valerica might just be a worse human being than the Stormsword for making you undergo them, and I didn’t think I’d ever say that sentence in my life.”</p><p>            Serana blinked back sudden tears. Calla was harsh and ruthless, but no worse than anyone in Harkon’s court, and there were times when the compassionate, warm-hearted woman she could have been – maybe should have been – came out from under the pragmatic Conjurer. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I consider you a friend too.”</p><p>            They retrieved the crystals and returned to the barrier. Valerica could have at least mentioned the <em>undead fucking dragon</em> called Durnehviir that came to investigate. Not that they couldn’t fight him but it would have been nice to prepare for a dragon fight.</p><p>            “That’s odd,” Calla muttered as he broke apart. “I didn’t absorb his soul.”</p><p>            “You didn’t <em>what</em>?” Valerica blurted out.</p><p>            “Dragonborn like Miraak can absorb dragon souls just as any dragon can,” Serana explained quickly. “Calla should have unlocked one of the several Words she knows on his death by absorbing his knowledge.”</p><p>            “I… see.” Valerica gave Calla a quick glance with a healthy amount of fear in it. “Come, let me lead you to the Blood Scroll.”</p><p>            Soon enough, they had it, and then Calla looked over her shoulder. “Let’s go,” she said.</p><p>            “I must stay here until Harkon is defeated,” Valerica said anxiously.</p><p>            “And get yourself imprisoned again? Fuck that. You join the fight or I make you answer for what you’ve done,” Calla retorted implacably. “You’d do just as well for the prophecy, you know.”</p><p>            Valerica actually squawked in fear and Serana realised that at the heart of it, her mother was a woman who feared everything despite her great power. It saddened her to understand that but… it also freed her.</p><p>            “Let’s go,” she said, turning for the entrance.</p><p>            They didn’t get too far before Durnehviir reformed.</p><p>            “Stay your weapons. I would speak with you, Qahnaarin,” the undead dragon rumbled.</p><p>            “So that’s why I didn’t absorb your soul,” Calla mused. “You weren’t really dead.”</p><p>            “Cursed, not dead. Doomed to exist in this form for eternity. Trapped between laas and dinok, between life and death,” Durnehviir sighed. “My claws have rendered the flesh of innumerable foes, but I have never once been felled on the field of battle. I therefor honour-name you ‘Qahnaarin,’ or Vanquisher in your tongue.”</p><p>            “I found you equally worthy,” Calla answered.</p><p>            “Your words do me great honour. My desire to speak with you was born from the result of our battle, Qahnaarin. I merely wish to respectfully ask a favour of you,” the dragon said humbly. “For countless years I've roamed the Soul Cairn, in unintended service to the Ideal Masters. Before this, I roamed the skies above Tamriel. I desire to return there.”</p><p>            Calla nodded. “How can I help you return?”</p><p>            “I will place my name with you and grant you the right to call my name from Tamriel. Do for me this simple honour and I will fight at your side as your Grah-Zeymahzin, your Ally, and teach you my Thu'um,” Durnehviir told her.</p><p>            “An undead dragon will make for a great ally in the battles to come,” Calla agreed. “Do you understand that I am the Laat Dovahkiin, the one who will contend with Al-Du-In, and that you will be called to service against your former overlord?”</p><p>            “Qahnaarin, I may never truly leave this place for I have been here too long. For a few precious moments in the skies of Keizaal, I would betray Bormahu himself,” the dragon admitted candidly. “What is Al-Du-In compared to one who cannot truly die?”</p><p>            Calla inclined her head. “So be it.”</p><p>            For a long moment, they stood in trance, staring into each other’s eyes as contrails of pale violet energy went from dragon to woman.</p><p>            “Nox hi,” the dragon said simply before taking off.</p><p>            Valerica was pale. “No wonder you aren’t concerned about your father.”</p><p>            Serana sighed. “He’s brought his fate upon himself. At least she isn’t another Miraak.”</p><p>            “Praise be to the old gods for that.”</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. The One They Fear</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for mentions of death, violence, fantastic racism and corpse desecration.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Irkand, your niece has just arrived riding some kind of undead horse and there’s an undead dragon following her.” Isran actually sounded surprised, maybe even shocked, which was a rare happenstance for him.</p><p>            Irkand simply finished his cup of tea before rising to his feet. “Nothing my niece does surprises me anymore. How’s Egil coping with it?”</p><p>            “Judging by his expression, I think he’s just realised how much shit the Stormcloaks are in if Calla truly becomes an active enemy,” Isran observed, recovering himself. “I have to admit, I didn’t even know you could raise a dragon necromantically.”</p><p>            “Neither did I. Is Serana with her?”</p><p>            “Yes, and some older vampire who has to be her mother, if the resemblance is anything to go by.” Isran grimaced. “I can work with self-interest but I hope those two aren’t going to hang around.”</p><p>            “Cheer up,” Dexion said from his seat at the table. “I’ll be sending our resident Dragonborn and her vampire friend on a quest to perform the Ritual of the Ancestor Moth.”</p><p>            “Do you know how dangerous that is?” Irkand blurted.</p><p>            Dexion’s smile was wry. “Irkand, your niece read the Oghma Infinium and reportedly gave Vaermina the finger. Between her ties to Oblivion and her dragon soul, she could peruse the Elder Scrolls like a copy of the Black Horse Gazette and maintain her mental equilibrium.”</p><p>            “Not her sanity?” Isran asked intently.</p><p>            “Most of the Aurelii are insane at one time or another. It’s more a case of functionality and capacity that matters.”</p><p>            “Thanks,” Irkand said sourly.</p><p>            “You’re welcome,” Dexion said chirpily.</p><p>            “-So I’m thinking the College of Whispers can take over Castle Volkihar when Harkon’s sent to answer his maker,” Calla was saying as they came outside.</p><p>            “I’d ask if you were insane, but you’re one of the Aurelii, so I’ll settle for asking if you’re kidding me,” Isran said flatly. “That place needs to be purged with salt and fire.”</p><p>            “Even with all the allies you’ve gathered, you don’t have the manpower to do it,” Calla countered bluntly. “Would you rather have the place taken over by mages who answer to the rule of law or leave it for the next fuckwit with delusions of grandeur who wants to repeat Harkon’s idiocy?”</p><p>            Isran actually ground his teeth and even Irkand winced. “Calla,” he began, only to be cut off by a chop of her hand.</p><p>            “I am what I am,” she said softly. “Serana’s interested in joining the Whispers and even Valerica can see the wisdom in it. There’s been some <em>interesting</em> rumours concerning necromancers in the Old Holds I won’t repeat because I don’t want to distress Egil… and let’s not mention our hostile neighbours to the south and west of the Empire. The Empire’s outmanned and outmaged; I won’t throw away resources to match the blackcoats just because they’re darker than you’d like. I have three literal apocalypses on my plate at the moment, and for dealing with Harkon, I’m claiming Castle Volkihar for the College of Whispers.”</p><p>            What Isran said was unbecoming of a former priest of Stendarr but Calla only laughed.</p><p>            “Fine,” he grated. “But the Dawnguard will be watching you.”</p><p>            “Watch away,” she said dryly. “You might be educated.”</p><p>            Isran stalked away swearing and Irkand had to shake his head.</p><p>            “Three apocalypses?” Egil asked in a very small voice.</p><p>            “Harkon wants to destroy the sun, which will screw over the world, we’ve got a Thalmor drooling over a very powerful Aedric artefact at the College of Winterhold, and of course we have Alduin preparing for an all-you-can-eat buffet,” Calla told him candidly.</p><p>            “Qahnaarin, why do you bother explaining things?” asked the undead dragon perched on the nearest outcrop. “Give orders and make them obey.”</p><p>            “Isran’s technically in charge, Durnehviir. I’m more of an outside consultant,” she said to the dragon. “I’m terrifying the shit out of people as it is. Declaring myself the mistress of Tamriel would only line up my enemies in a queue to deal with me.”</p><p>            “Wait, that dragon isn’t necromantically raised?” Irkand blurted.</p><p>            “No. Durnehviir made an unwise deal with the Ideal Masters and wound up bound to the Soul Cairn as a result,” Calla answered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I can summon him from there for a few hours. I figured I’d show you lot what I’m bringing to the fight with Harkon so you’d agree to letting me claim Castle Volkihar for the College of Whispers.”</p><p>            “I am grateful for her kindness,” Durnehviir observed. “I suggest you joorre demonstrate similar gratitude.”</p><p>            “From Conjurer to necromancer,” Egil said flatly. “What’s next, becoming a Daedric Prince?”</p><p>            “There’s a thought,” Calla said dryly. “I’d be walking in my ancestors’ footsteps.”</p><p>            “And you will turn all of this against the Stormcloaks?”</p><p>            “If your parents are actually stupid enough to attack Whiterun, yes,” Calla told him frankly. “I don’t <em>intend</em> to get involved in the civil war unless someone drags me into it. Stay away from Whiterun and don’t interfere in my business and I won’t.”</p><p>            Dexion cleared his throat. “You have the Blood Scroll?”</p><p>            “I do.”</p><p>            The Moth Priest related the Ritual of the Ancestor Moth to Calla, who nodded. “Give me a day or so to rest and we’ll go,” she promised. “The soul is willing but the flesh is weak.”</p><p>            “In the meantime, I will peruse the magical defences of this place,” Valerica said quietly. “Harkon surely hasn’t been idle.”</p><p>            Irkand waited until everyone else had gone before giving Calla a concerned look. “I know there’s not much we can do about our family and its history, but don’t you think you’re flaunting the connections to Oblivion a little much? Alduin and the others will be defeated… and then there will be no reason to keep you alive.”</p><p>            “By the time that happens, I’ll likely have the power of something approaching a minor god,” Calla answered bluntly. “I <em>want</em> the dragons, the Dominion and the Stormcloaks terrified. The more who realise they’re on a losing side, the less who will die later.”</p><p>            “Or the more who will try to destroy what they deem to be a monster,” Irkand said softly.</p><p>            “That too is a possibility,” she said quietly. “But at the moment, do we have any other choice?”</p><p>            He couldn’t answer that and after an awkward silence, he went inside.</p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Touching the Sky</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism and corpse desecration.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The visions cleared and Calla found herself back in the middle of the Ancestral Glade. “Darkfall Cave,” she gasped. “We need to go to Darkfall Cave. Up near where the Reach meets Haafingar.”</p><p>            “Name sounds about right,” Serana observed. “Report back to Isran or just go up there?”</p><p>            “I think we should give the folks some time to get over Arvak and Durnehviir. Let’s head up to-“</p><p>            “For Whiterun!” Lydia yelled at the entrance of the cave.</p><p>            Volkihar vampires and a few thralls were attacking the huscarl. Two of the thralls were already dead but she was hard-pressed by the others.</p><p>            “RII VAAZ ZOL!” Calla roared, striking the most powerful vampire with the Soul Tear Shout that Durnehviir had taught her. It killed him immediately, trapping his soul in one of Serana’s black soul gems and raising his corpse to fight his erstwhile allies. While she was mute, she cast Chain Lightning on the two remaining thralls while Serana engaged the gargoyle and last vampire.</p><p>            The scuffle was soon over and Calla caught Lydia as she swayed, golden light swirling around them both as she healed the huscarl. “They just came out of nowhere,” Lydia said weakly.</p><p>            “We need to go to a place up where the Reach meets Haafingar,” Calla said grimly. “Do you have any problems with me leaving you at Markarth to heal?”</p><p>            “I’m supposed to protect you-“</p><p>            “We’ll collect you on the way back, I promise.” Calla helped the huscarl to stand. “Arvak can carry three.”</p><p>            Twelve hours later they thundered into Markarth, crowds of Reachfolk and Nords scattering before the flaming purple ghost horse, and she guided Arvak all the way up to Understone Keep. “Tell Calcelmo or Aicantar to get their arses out here now and somebody send for Bothela!” she ordered harshly. “I have a wounded warrior here.”</p><p>            Argis the Bulwark was pulling the doors back. “Trust you to make an entrance,” he observed amusedly. “Weren’t you supposed to go report to Rikke in Solitude?”</p><p>            “I had other business.”</p><p>            Within moments, Lydia was laid out on a cot in Calcelmo’s workroom by the water, Bothela and the mage conferring as to best heal her wounds. “What in Oblivion did that kind of damage?” the Hag asked, pointing to the gashes in Lydia’s side.</p><p>            “Gargoyle – undead stone-like golem raised by Volkihar vampires,” Calla answered tersely.</p><p>            “Harkon’s risen again? Nocturnal preserve us,” Bothela said, making a gesture against evil.</p><p>            “He’ll be back in the grave soon enough.”</p><p>            “I see your Conjuration skills have increased,” Calcelmo noted as his hands glowed golden. “Nice horse.”</p><p>            “His name is Arvak. I found him in the Soul Cairn.” Calla held onto Lydia’s hand. “Will my huscarl be okay?”</p><p>            Bothela poured a potion made of skeever charcoal, mudcrab chitin and dried imp stool down Lydia’s throat. “Yes. She won’t be fighting for the next few days, but we can save her.”</p><p>            Calla squeezed the half-conscious Nord’s hand once. “We can’t stay. Take care of her, please. I’ll leave some coin-“</p><p>            “Young woman, for all you did for the Reach, we can certainly spare some potions and healing magic for a friend of yours,” Calcelmo interrupted. “I’ve heard of Harkon the Cruel.”</p><p>            “Thank you,” Serana said softly.</p><p>            Calla wiped at her eyes. “What she said.”</p><p>            “Go, Dragonborn. Put the fear of the gods into that evil bastard,” Bothela urged.</p><p>            “We will, I promise.”</p><p>            After a night at the inn, Serana and Calla set out for Darkfall Cave, reaching it by sunset thanks to Arvak’s untiring pace. She patted the ghost horse’s flank before banishing him, then brushed off her garb. Balgruuf’s gift was looking a bit grim but appearances were the last thing on her mind.</p><p>            At the bottom of the cave was the last untwisted snow elf in the world, a priest of Auri-El, who told the sad story of his people and the fall of his brother Vyrthur. Serana listened quietly and said when Gelebor had done talking, “You know he’s probably a vampire now, right?”</p><p>            “Surely not!” Gelebor said, stricken.</p><p>            “Serana would know. She’s a Daughter of Coldharbour,” Calla told him frankly.</p><p>            Gelebor closed his rain-grey eyes. “Auriel have mercy on him.”</p><p>            “Someone better, because his damned prophecy has given me nothing but grief,” Serana said grimly. “The most we can promise is a swift end for him. I’m sorry.”</p><p>            “As am I.” Gelebor collected himself. “I need you to activate the Wayshrines of Auri-El to access the Chantry at the end. I know He isn’t a god of Atmorani, but if His influence can be extended through the Sun-Bright Vale, it will weaken the influence of Vyrthur and the Betrayed.”</p><p>            “We can do that,” Calla promised.</p><p>            Two days of gruelling fighting, trekking and water-carrying, punctuated by the appearance of underwater dragons, followed. Calla, out of respect for the holy land she was in, refrained from using Conjuration or Soul Tear and Shouted herself hoarse to stop their enemies. By the time they reached the great shrine, they were battered and exhausted, left with no choice but to rest.</p><p>            “What happens after this?” Calla asked as she bound a poultice to her wounded arm.</p><p>            “We deal with my father,” Serana said grimly.</p><p>            “What will you do after that?”</p><p>            “Leave this Whispers business to my mother at the moment and go back to the College of Winterhold,” she answered. “You helped me with my problem. It’s only fair I help with yours.”</p><p>            “I appreciate it. Ancano’s likely to be more of a challenge.”</p><p>            “Wait until you face my father in his full power.”</p><p>            At dawn, they entered the shrine. Frozen Falmer and other creatures abounded in the cavernous, slightly dilapidated chambers of the once-great building, but eventually they reached the room where Vyrthur was enthroned in all his unholy glory.</p><p>            “YOL TOOR!” Calla Shouted, blasting him in the face with fire, and Serana fell upon the snow elf with the two Falmer she’d raised while he was still alight.</p><p>            For an evil mastermind of a twisted prophecy, Vyrthur died quick and easy. As the ice fell away, the last of the Wayshrines glowed and Gelebor stepped through with a golden bow in his hands. “So, the deed has been done. The restoration of this Wayshrine means that Vyrthur must be dead.”</p><p>            “It does,” Calla said softly. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>            “As am I.” Gelebor sighed. “You risked everything to get Auri-El's Bow, and in turn, you've restored the Chantry. I can't think of a more deserving champion to carry it than you. If you wish to learn more about the bow, or obtain Sunhallowed Arrows for it, I'd be more than happy to help. You've but to ask.”</p><p>            “I’m guessing the bow has anti-vampire properties?” Calla asked as she took the weapon.</p><p>            “The bow was said to be carried by Auri-El himself into battle against the forces of Lorkhan in ancient and mythic times. Its craftsmanship has no equal anywhere within Tamriel and possibly beyond.” Gelebor smiled ruefully. “The bow draws it power from Aetherius itself, channelling it through the sun. Therefore, when an arrow is loosed from the bow, it produces a magical effect very similar to being burned by fire.”</p><p>            Serana’s eyes narrowed. “So if arrows bloodied by a Daughter of Coldharbour’s blood were fired, the effect would be quite different?”</p><p>            “Yes. I hope you don’t intend to try such a vile action.”</p><p>            “Oh no. I don’t want the armies of man and mer on my doorstep,” Serana said fervently.</p><p>            “With Sunhallowed Arrows, you would be able to produce a much more spectacular effect... causing bursts of sunlight to envelop your foes. The sunbursts would certainly hurt anything, but is especially devastating to the undead.” Gelebor tilted his head. “I can actually assist you in that regard. If you were to bring me some good quality elven arrows, I could imbue them with the proper incantations and rituals.”</p><p>            Calla held up a finger. “Give me a moment. The Fal… the Betrayed… were using bows downstairs. I think I might be able to get some arrows.”</p><p>            There were twenty in number and when she returned, Gelebor smiled warmly. “I can only do twenty at a time.”</p><p>            “I think we’re only going to need twenty with the forces we’ve gathered,” Calla assured him.</p><p>            With a few prayers, the snow elf returned them, the arrows gleaming with holy light. “May Auri-El guide your aim and arm.”</p><p>            “Will you be okay?” Calla asked him.</p><p>            “For the time being I will remain here on the overlook and continue trying to keep the Sanctum free of the Betrayed. You're always welcome to return here at any time, of course.” He smiled a little sadly. “Loneliness is not unusual to me.”</p><p>            “Who knows? Maybe now there’s an active Temple here, you might see Altmer who despise the Thalmor coming to pay a visit.” Calla gave him a smile of her own. “Gods of Left and Right watch over you.”</p><p>            They left that place and she never returned.</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Back to the Living</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, fantastic racism and corpse desecration. It’s arse-kicking time!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harkon had expected <em>some</em> reaction from the newly reformed Dawnguard. A futile invasion, perhaps, led by that mad Redguard with the warhammer. Some dribs and drabs of the Vigilant remnant led by that Jarl’s son from the east. Maybe a Restoration mage or two. As an immortal he could outlive and outlast any mortal effort.</p><p>            It had been a very long time since Harkon had dealt with the mainland of Skyrim and several developments had escaped his notice.</p><p>            He’d sent out the weakest members of his court, the expendable ones, to try and halt the Dawnguard’s advance. Only one of them, Ronthil, survived to stagger in and warn of an undead dragon and a woman whose very Voice tore out the souls of her enemies and made their corpses fight for her. Vingalmo had mentioned something about the return of the dragons, but Harkon had brushed it off. Well, even Miraak had fallen in the end, and this woman was surely much less potent than a powerful Dragon Priest of purest Atmorani blood.</p><p>            He fell back to the chapel of Molag Bal, ordering his court to defend him, and filled the Bloodstone Chalice from the sacred spring and drank deep. Screams of agony tore through the once-quiet halls of his castle but he ignored them, focusing on drawing forth the power granted to him by his gifts. Blood writhed across his form as he felt the change take him. There were only two who could match his power as a Vampire Lord and both chose to hide. No matter. He would find Serana and the bow to bring about vampiric rule over the world.</p><p>            “BEX!” The doors to the chapel were blasted open, a black-haired woman with the square jaw of an Atmorani and the olive-bronze skin of a Yokudan or Nede entering, accompanied by risen corpses and two powerful Dremora Lords. So, this Dragonborn was a formidable Conjurer. No matter. She could join him or die.</p><p>            “Behold the power of the Vampire Lord!” Harkon announced as he took to the sky. “Join me and I will make you my consort, Dragonborn. Defy me and die.”</p><p>            Her blue-green eyes blazed as fire gathered in her hands. Brave, but not very bright. Harkon sighed, regretting to destroy such power, and descended in a fury with his claws outstretched.</p><p>            Talons skidded against suddenly hardened skin but the force of his blow slammed her into the wall, knocking her out. Well, that might be for the better. Harkon could persuade her to his cause at his leisure once his unwanted guests were destroyed.</p><p>            Isran, that mad Redguard, entered the chapel. “Time to die, bloodsucker!” he snarled.</p><p>            Harkon sighed. So unoriginal. Could his enemies be at least worth the effort of defeating them?</p><p>            He lunged at the Redguard but found a silver-studded net thrown on him, entangling him with a thousand burning points. He burst the fragile cording, of course, but his skin was dotted with a myriad of minor burns. “If that was your best trick, I find myself unimpressed, Isran.”</p><p>            It had been a long time since Harkon had dealt with the mainland and the concept that others might be as pragmatic and ruthless as he among mortals had never occurred to him. The pair of daggers sliding past his hardened skin into his kidneys swiftly educated him on that notion.</p><p>            For the first time in a long time, Harkon felt pain, and he kicked back with his taloned feet at the dishonourable cur. But all his spurs found was air and within heartbeats, ebony daggers slid across his death-grey skin, leaving bright blood in its wake. As he staggered forward, Isran sized him up for a moment before hitting him in the ribs with the silver-alloyed warhammer.</p><p>            Back and forth he was pushed by the two Redguards, one powerfully built and bald and the other a lithe shadow of a man, beaten and stabbed until his entire world was pain. This could not be happening! He was Harkon, Lord of the Vampires!</p><p>            Then violent light, harsh and ice-cold, ran across his skin as Valerica, flanked by Feran and Garan, stepped out of a hidden opening to the chapel. With horror, Harkon realised he’d been soul trapped… and outplayed by his treacherous wife. “Damn you!” he roared.</p><p>            “No, Harkon dear. Damn <em>you</em>,” Valerica answered in a poisonously sweet voice as she summoned a pair of horrific black-and-violet skeletons. “Give the Ideal Masters my regards.”</p><p>            Then Harkon screamed as agony thrilled through his very veins… and kept on screaming for a very long time afterwards until a dragon, rotting and foul, bit his head off to end the unceasing noise. Yet even that did not end his torment.</p><p>…</p><p>Serana smiled wryly as Florentius tied a poultice to Calla’s head. The Dragonborn had come out of the fight with a concussion and rattled pride. Personally, Serana thought it would be good for her. She’d been a bit too sure of herself with the massive amount of power she’d acquired during this whole mess. Now, she might demonstrate a little humility and caution.</p><p>            “I wish,” Isran began, glaring hotly at Valerica and the remnants of Harkon’s court, but fell silent at a touch from his lover Irkand.</p><p>            “I don’t like it either. But Tullius won’t commit the men we need to burn this place to the ground. We just have to hope Valerica is… is…”</p><p>            “Given I’ve promised my court’s services to the good General during both the civil war and the next conflict with the Aldmeri Dominion, he has no reason to destroy us,” Valerica said serenely. “Most of us aren’t murderous monsters, Isran. I find casual murder coarsens one’s outlook on life, personally.”</p><p>            “Just keep your court within the laws of the College of Whispers and the Empire and you won’t have to deal with us,” Irkand told her with that deceptive mildness of his. “Whatever you can do, Valerica, I can counter – and you’ll never see me coming.”</p><p>            “Pity you belong to Arkay,” she said wryly. “You’d make a fine consort.”</p><p>            Once Valerica had revealed herself, most of the court had been willing to surrender, led by the Bosmer Ronthil. Harkon’s loyalists had been purged and everyone else was only too happy to follow Valerica. Serana supposed she should be relieved, but honestly, all she felt was a weary disgust. There was nothing decent in her mother’s plans and motivations. She was a true Daughter of Coldharbour.</p><p>            “I’ll be going back to the College,” she told her mother. “Calla helped us with our problem and now it’s my turn to repay the favour.”</p><p>            Valerica sighed. “I wish you would stay-“</p><p>            “No. I need some time to myself. My father died today. I need to grieve.” Serana turned away. “I’ll see you again, Mother. One day.”</p><p>            She walked past the Dawnguard soldiers making sure of the gargoyles and tending to the thralls, lifting a hand to Jenassa, Uthgerd and Umana, before coming out of the Castle into the grey light of predawn. Good. She had just enough time to reach Hjaalmarch before true sunrise.</p><p>            As planned, Falion awaited her. For the last time, Serana assumed human form and offered a black soul gem. He smiled and led her to the stones.</p><p>            “I call upon Oblivion Realms, the home of those who are not our ancestors. Answer my plea! As in death there is new life, in Oblivion there is a beginning for that which has ended. I call forth that power! Accept the soul that we offer! As the sun ends the night, end the darkness of this soul, return life to the creature you see before you!”</p><p>            His voice rolled, rich and powerful, as the sun rose above the hills to the east to cast golden light across the frozen bog. That golden sunlight turned her vision to red and then she fell into darkness.</p><p>            She awoke in a cot in Falion’s cottage, Calla seated on a stool beside her, the poultice still tied about her head. “Welcome back to the living,” the Dragonborn said in that low sweet voice of hers.</p><p>            Serana found a smile. “I’m free of them now.”</p><p>            “Yes, you are.” Calla’s gaze was distant. “But now the real test begins.”</p><p>            Serana was ready to face it.</p>
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